


The Holes Of My Sweater

by Dedevil



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Poetics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Smut, Team: Alec Ryder Was A Shitty Dad, Team: Jaal Is The True Alien-Fucker Here, and some slight dialogue changes, canon divergent as in my ryder has a tragic backstory, embrace your mary sues ya'll, the state of her parents is different, very slightly canon divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-02-06 06:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 109,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12811683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dedevil/pseuds/Dedevil
Summary: A man of many talents, but a master to none, Jaal Ama Darav fights for a future he doesn't know he'll be able to fit in to. Having already failed in love, education, and expectations, fate throws him a 600 year old curve ball that gives him new perspective.From the point of the very beginning, to starting new ones. Tidbits of learning about aliens, and falling in love with one, told from Jaal's perspective.





	1. All I am is a man

He doesn’t tell anyone that, among the tension resting heavy in his gut, this is a little exciting.

The kett, though proof of other life out in the vast unknown, have been an ever-present torment throughout his elders, his parents, and his own life. They had lost the meaning of 'unfamiliar' and 'alien' long ago and became 'the enemy' instead, and that's... The thought that the only other society in existence are slavers out to dominate them is one that provokes fear just as much as it does tragedy. They may not be alone in the universe, but the stars only have opponents of quarrel and suffering to offer. Galaxies among galaxies, expanses upon expanses upon expanses that go on for eternity, and yet each corner of it is empty except for their predators. No matter how beautiful and intelligent and capable of success his people are, in an existence so large it's beyond his wildest fantasies, their destinies only lead to fighting like animals in a desperate attempt to survive.

Among these fears, the Moshae stood tall, undeterred as things like success dripped from her lips. She never had to plan for them to live another day, she didn't have to hope they would see the wars end--she simply knew, like she always did, with everything. His teacher looked to the gaping void just outside their atmosphere, and in it's nothingness she saw their future.

But now she's gone.

Leaving Jaal to look to the endless abyss that makes up the night sky, and wonder why he saw only his inevitable death.

Perhaps, to the mass that makes up all of space, their beloved Moshae's belief was worth nothing. Perhaps, a day that isn't just another different flavor of tragedy will never come. Perhaps, what's beyond their ships reach is just a whole lot of empty space.  
  
This morning, the sky finally answers back, with a ship decorated in flames crashing onto their safe haven.  
  
He expected a reply more… _graceful_ , but he’ll take any reason to keep hope in his heart. “Evfra, I’m going to go see what’s happening.”  
  
“We already have forces making way towards the threat.” His eyes don't even leave his monitor, still disgruntled with the slight spat he had with the governor about allowing these aliens to meet solid ground. She has a way of appreciating his permission, but flexing that she _does not_ need it.  
  
“They’ll have to guard the crowd. You’ll receive word faster with me.” he insists, frowning. Yet again does he have to argue his worth.  
  
The Resistance leader sighs, relenting with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Fine, but bring a weapon with you.”  
  
So, with his heart thumping with fear, and thrill, and anger, and all things adrenaline, he speed walks his way to the aliens. Just down the steps, along in the crowd with it's hands raised, the top of it's furry head, he see's. Even as he's only a walking distance away, his eagerness gets the best of him as he stretches to see...

It’s probably the most un-intimidating creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

The otherworlder before him dwarfs in comparison to just about everyone around it-- _Her? Him? Neither?_ It's rather androgynous--legs utterly straight, neck so frail he half-expects its head to roll right off, and too-many fingered hands so tiny he wonders if they can even hold a weapon. Their colors seem saturated and dull against the army of vibrancy pointing their guns at them, hair and skin making up hue’s he’s only ever seen in _dirt_ , even one of their eyes is so dark brown it swallows the pupil whole. He can’t detect any form of natural protection on its body, no scales or plating or even a tough layer of skin like his own, but pulled back hair that grows only from their round head as if a prank from evolution.

The only part of it that seems protected is the metal prosthetic’s of all four of their limbs, and that’s when a red flag waves. This alien has seen war, landing onto their safe haven and standing in a sea of people ready to kill it, scowling. Unmoved. Fearless. Something nameless brews and bubbles in his veins. The kind of something that tells him _danger is afoot._

"Jaal," Paaran chastises as he approaches, grasping his shoulder when his feet hit the first few steps. "I have this in hand--"

"Evfra saw the ship come in and sent me to find out what's going on." he snaps with a little more force than he intends, continuing downward. She will no doubt pull him away at some point and discuss that with him, but for now he's more than a little fed up with having to explain himself, with having to reason with his superiors to fight for their cause, when there is a being from another galaxy in front of him.

"She's a human from another galaxy," Paaran finally relents when he's no longer within her arms reach. "A Pathfinder."

 _Ah_. Jaal has heard of humans, and their two million light year trek into their cluster, but has seen them only scarcely. One of her eyes glows a bright cyan as he comes face-to-face with her--cybernetic as well, he realizes with wary--boring through him, chilling into him, gripping his very bones.

Jaal doesn’t dare blink. She won’t waver his resolve.

They are a strong people, and Jaal won’t allow her to see them as trusting, giving, _naive._ He won’t allow her to manipulate their hopes of peace and abuse their kindness, like the kett did. He can’t repeat history based on her nonthreatening appearance. They will not be the _prey_ to yet another species.

“Aya is hidden. _Protected,_ ” he grits, to the point, nostrils flared and eyes glowering. “What do you want?”

Though she has to crane her neck, the humans stare gives him chills, soft features hardened and false eye glaring violently. Perhaps what's beyond their ships reach is nothing good, the fighter wonders just then. Perhaps he’s foolish to believe the wild world of life can be tamed, that the universe is full of anything other than predators. Perhaps his people are but a place on the food chain and they are better off alone. Perhaps this Pathfinder deserves _a bullet in the head--_

But then she speaks, and the brew in his veins simmers into nothing.

“I apologize. Landing here the way we did, without warning…” Her voice is odd in its monotone, young in its body, the curl of her lip self-conscious and the pregnant pause she makes hesitant. “…On _fire,_ was not the plan.”

Would it have been anyone’s plan? Jaal is baffled by how… _real_ this flaming, glaring aliens reply is. She has a title of her own, a ship to command that weaved through the scourge, and she’s apologizing like a teenager having just broken a neighbors window. He reminds himself that this could be a deception, a talented lie, but he can’t help but see something familiar among her foreign hair, and strange accent, and deathly scowl.

Different, but the same.

“That’s good to know,” he says, leaning close and swallowing down the bubble of a chuckle when she bends away, something incredulous written on her face, like he could so obviously burn her. The surrounding angara are probably feeling just the same. “Because if it was, that would be a very bad plan.”

The furrow in her brow takes a turn for inquisitive when he can’t resist the smile any longer, the rifleman wordlessly reassuring the alien before him that he’s only teasing.

Catching a couple turns of helmets directing their gaze towards him, expressions hidden from his reading but no doubt judging his every move, the smile is just as quick to disappear under their scrutiny. Jaal Ama Darav, _the unsuccessful_ , getting familiar with what could be another murderous foreigner looking to dictate over them.

“I’ll inform Evfra. He’ll be waiting for you at his office in the Resistance Headquarters,” he nods quickly, turning on his heel and heading back up the steps before anyone can catch him in the act of being so friendly to an outsider. Their eyes crawl across his back, but the icy gaze of the alien feels most present. “I’ll meet you there.”

* * *

 

He's, almost eagerly, boarded a ship of aliens that don't know what they're doing.

Jaal is forced to sit back and watch as the Tempest's--unfamiliar and impressive, inside and out--crew bicker among themselves in a circle. He's met two other humans so far, another female and what must be one of their males, both with the same round head and straight legs but varying in hair length, textures, and colors. Though somehow that's not saying much, as said colors still only make up differing tones of soil; Ryder's hair, like the clay of Elaaden, even looks _brighter_ next to them.

There's another that's more like his kind, hairless, blue in skin, bright eyes, ridges not unlike his own making up her head. But when she speaks it's of hedonism and thrill-seeking. "Yeah, what happened? I wanted to look around!"

"And now we have another mouth to feed," The eldest and largest of them all huffs, mouth large and full of gnashing teeth, cruel spikes making up his chin and hard plating crowning his head like a king. There's no part of this alien that isn't ragged and hard. He notices the slit of his pupils thin when Jaal's presence is finally acknowledge, aggravated, challenging. "Whatever he eats."

Jaal squints back, unmoved and unblinking. He will not be daunted, much less to this _bully._

The tallest of them, every inch of her face plated, well-dressed instead of uniformed, eyes covered to hide the emotion in them, quips when the spectacle drags on too long. Obviously she expected him to cower before the brute. "Do the translator's not work?"

"They work." Not being daunted doesn't mean he won't be _annoyed._

What he least expects on this ship full of kin not his own, of alien invaders come to so innocently take their land, is one of them coming to his defense. To his surprise, their leader does so, monotone voice quivering with thinly contained frustration and something inexperienced. "Can we not pick on the guy that just offered to help us? Is this a fucking preschool? Can we all just, please, try to... Just listen up!"

"Begging. Interesting strategy." the bully chimes in again, this time to their Pathfinder, herself.

" _You--_ " Her head whips towards the giant, a ferocity in her gaze against a being so broad and roughened compared to her, unafraid of the thought that he could probably swallow her whole as she snaps at him like he's a child she just lost her patience with. " _\--Shut up._ "

Such small woman, taking on a personified mountain with only words as weapons. He finds himself awe-stricken when the brute in-question makes a show of mock-fear, but otherwise backs down to Ryder's fury. A fair fight. It's that Ryder has to fight with her crew like this at all that has him sitting a little straighter.

"Ryder," the light-haired one interrupts, shaking her head in a gesture he's come to know very well. _Disapproval._ "We followed our best lead here, and now we don't even have that."

He's recognizing a certain pattern here. Something he's had to do often with his own superiors, so much so that he's mastered it, but Ryder is fumbling doing the same to her own subordinates.

Arguing her worth.

He can hear how--uneasy? Frustrated? Whatever she is, she grits her words, irritable. "Jaal has offered to do what he can to help us access the vault on Aya."

"How do we do that when we're leaving the planet it's on?"

Ryder is new to this position, he realizes. Young, inexperienced. Answering questions she doesn't know.

"That's..." She looks to him, of all people, for stillness. "A fair point. Jaal?"

And admitting it is her undoing. " _\--Seriously?_ "

A newborn leader that has but one who believes in her, rushing to her defense with the loud thud of his hand meeting the table, echoing out and bringing a deathly silence to the crews unease. "Settle down! Ryder's right. There's an angara _right here._ Let's hear from the new guy."

All attention is on him in a moment, almost looming in their scrutiny, but his eyes stay to Ryder. It's amazing how much of his life has gone by, living the same day, playing the same game of survival, and yet now he's here. On an alien ship, with this alien crew, who argue and poke fun at one another openly in front of him. Who defend him against petty words and refer to him familiarly, _the new guy_ , as if he isn't someone simply piggybacking off their mission.

Who fumble with their roles and hide their feelings, like Ryder does, with her foreign hair, and strange accent, and deathly scowl.

In her apathetic eyes, he finds some semblance of honesty. She doesn't know what she's doing. Not at all. She's not ashamed of not knowing, however, unbothered by their lack of faith.

Different, but the same.

Jaal stands to his feet and goes to her. He said he would be her guide, and guide her he will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My very first slow-burn fic! This ship has inspired me like no other, and I really hope this goes well and brings something new to the table. Will try to update weekly.
> 
> First, we have Jaal meeting a meelk-y waaay alien.
> 
> (disclaimer: lyrical titles will probably not be in order lol)


	2. If I may just take your breath away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His first time seeing Ryder in a fight, Jaal isn't certain if it should be a comfort or a fear.

The planet of Ryder's choosing is Voeld, where she chatters and complains about the cold being biting even under the safety of her helmet, but otherwise charges into danger nonetheless.

  
One too many times has he cut through the icy winds of Voeld, shooting down another thick blanket of kett beelining for him as fast as the surrounding blizzard, just to find the encasement he approaches already emptied of it's victim. It'd be easy to assume it Liam's doing, but he's beside him, doing just the same as his teeth chatter beneath his helmet. As for the Pathfinder--

  
"Where is Ryder?" he calls to his squad mate over the howl of gunfire and wind. She used to be in front of him, leading them on into battle, but he's since lost track of her in the fray of flurrying snow and blasting bullets. The fighter hopes she wasn't gunned down without his notice. That'd be--a little pathetic, to be honest. So much talk of saving the Moshae, only to show she couldn't survive the most simplest of rescue missions.

  
" _Oop_ ," he hears Liam coo, not in the least bit worried. Jaal's not certain if that was even a word as much as it was a noise. "There she goes."

  
Finally does he scan for the Pathfinder, and finds her charging an entire floor ahead of them, shooting, and kicking, and snarling, like all social expectations have been left for the snow to bury and now there is only fury. Ryder, despite her short stature and squishy exterior, fights like a caged beast just let loose. Among the chaos, he almost believes he sees some kind of blue apparition attached to her, a flurry of light carrying the small human from one platform to another--But he stares too much, soon sent reeling by a kett effectively cracking into his shields. It's a trickery of mind, he convinces himself. Fantastic fantasies of aliens and their foreign capabilities. Unimportant.

  
It isn't long before all kett lie dead and all captures are freed, Ryder retrieving a data drive from Niilj, the uncle of the young man who requested his rescue.

"Can you deliver this to Techiix? If we work together, no time will be wasted."

  
Jaal isn't certain why that's a factor for this request, but the Pathfinder accepts regardless, promising a quick journey as she pockets the device. It's... generous. A single favor to the Resistance effort was all that was required to earn Evfra's trust, and yet here she is accepting to help in this personal manner for a man she does not know, simply because Niilj does not plan to return to his family as soon as they expect.

  
The kett think the same.

  
Just as they begin taking their first steps to newfound freedom, reinforcements come swooping effortlessly through the blizzard, falling like armed meteorites from their vessel. "Duck for cover!" the Pathfinder orders harshly as they all sink low to the ground, his fingers gripping his rifle tense and hard, but no bullets fly. The sound of the vessel whirring through the sky grows quieter as it distances itself, and no attack comes. All is deathly quiet, anticipation and confusion swelling between each body huddled together.

  
Ryder braves a peek over her cover to assess--and is hit with a shot so powerful he sees scraps of metal break free from her helmet, her head lurching back as she yelps.

"Ryder--"

  
"I'm fine," she quickly snaps, interrupting his worries before they have the chance to turn into panic. The shot only just grazed the armor of her head, searing it's plating into an ugly metal scar, but not breaking it open. "Get to higher ground. And stay low."

  
They're under them, he realizes. Waiting. Preying.

  
Ryder herds the rest of them to the highest point in a shuffle, a few eager shots winding towards them during the trek up, but ultimately everyone keeps their heads. Jaal makes quick work of checking how many or how little shots he has left, only to find a handful of bullets in the holster, his soldier mind left scrambling for an alternative. Over half the captives have picked up kett weapons left from the dead, but it's likely they are just as few on rounds, only meant to disrupt rowdy disorder until the three of them came along. Their actual weapons could have only been taken away, stored away in a vault they don't have enough time to break into now. Inside the Nomad, there is more ammo, but they cannot get to it now without losing their lives. His ideas meet a dead end when they reach the firaan locked in his gun handle, concern gripping his ribs and squeezing his chest tight.

  
These are reinforcements they don't have ammo for.

  
"Ryder, do we have a plan?" Liam speaks up, as if reading his thoughts.

Ryder doesn't hesitate to deliver the hard truth. "No."

The rifleman interjects this time, desperate. "Do we have ammo?"

"No." she admits again, apathetic, still moving, and angaran eyes full of fear and worry shift to him. _No._ He will not let them take these people again, even if he has to take on every kett based on Voeld with his _bare teeth._

They finally reach the highest platform, each filling a corner in case of ambush. He steels his resolve as he looks through the scope of his rifle, paying careful attention to the corners of the structure, following alien foot prints in the snow to find an idle Chosen. Looking for where they've re-positioned, not quite paying attention.

  
He takes a long, slow breath, beckoning his heart to calm as the wind goes deaf against his breathing. Pressure against the trigger just so, taut, ready, prepared to kill with just the press of his digit.

One less to worry about.

  
His aim is true, but in that moment all hell breaks loose. Now that their cover is blown, all fire is pointed to them in a wave, the angry yowl of the blizzard pouring into his ears yet again only to be drowned out by the fire of blasters. Pickings are far and few between, one blast between the eyes, another in the neck, two to make a Chosen drop it's gun then it's life, one--

That one does not come, a helpless click following the pull of his trigger rather than a kill.

  
His eyes are drawn to the telltale clicking of another empty weapon across from him, and watches as Ryder growls her frustration at her own gun and gracelessly chucks it at the enemy, teeth bared and eyes wild under the dark glass of her helmet. A futile attempt to wound the enemy as her anger gets the best of her, like a new recruit overflowing with passion and temper. It’s the most emotion he’s seen in her so far, her apathy having fallen through to nowhere.

  
Her eyes catch in his own once she ducks again, her features calming into… something like _shame._ Jaal can’t decipher the reason why when she shares her eyes.

  
“Alright, I'm all out,” Liam barks over the chaos, but it soon becomes just as much background noise as the gunfire when Ryder _stands straight into oncoming bullets_ , stepping up onto the ledge, weaponless and fearless. “Maybe if we flank around we can tackle-- _Ryder!_ ”

  
Jaal's heart stutters right in his chest when she bursts in a fire of blue wisp, feeling gravity bend to her will as she lunges from the railing, fist in the air like a graceful yet angry spirit about to smite. It all seems to happen in slow motion for him, Jaal shooting straight out of his cover without realizing, just to see what surprises she has in store next. She falls from them, like a blazing comet, landing heavily and punching into the snow even heavier, and it's power _bursts_ across the ground like a pebble against the calm of water. It disrupts the snow straight up off the floor, rippling, bowling right through the surrounding kett as they are sent flying and limp in an instant.

All is quiet, just then, awe slapping his rifle out of his hands.

"Nice one!" Liam snaps him out of his stupor, appearing beside him to shout his support with an odd presentation of his thumbs. Everyone surrounding them begins to chatter and laugh with victory, clearly not lost in his shock as he is.

* * *

 

He finds his visor in hands that emit shooting comets.

  
“You dropped this.” she says, arm outstretched and face hollow under the helmet, as if she hadn’t bowled over a small army of kett with alien prowess and ire alone. It must’ve fallen off his brow ridge in the middle of firefight, without his notice, but not without her’s.

  
“…Oh,” he finally replies dumbly, eyes feeling wide on his face as he reaches to pluck his visor from dangerous hands of metal. Jaal is almost tempted to ask when she saw it, when she had the time to see it, _what’s that amazingly strange thing she just did_ , a million questions skittering so fast in and out of his throat that it’s somehow rendering him speechless. “Thank you. That is…”

  
But she cuts him off. Ducks her chin. Speaks quickly and walks past him even quicker. “Don’t mention it.”

  
His eyes don't leave her frail form--though, now he knows that it's _not_ frail, far from it--even as she starts climbing into the Nomad, feet stuck in place as his thoughts wander. Such unease from a being so powerful; neither her nor Liam have even mentioned what she just did, what has just been done, what was accomplished here. Their mission is complete, an alliance with aliens from the past can now be discussed, but the victory seems to have gone with the wind to her.

"Ryder?" He interrupts her climb mid-way, faceless glass turning it's attention to him as he trots up to her, finally finding a voice for his awe. "This is big. Liberating key Resistance agents and recovering information they stole from the kett. Surely, even Evfra must be convinced of your intentions."

  
Perhaps it's that she's unconvinced, perhaps it's that she _doesn't care,_ because she persists regardless. "What about the data Niilj entrusted us?"

  
Jaal pauses, mouth open, but only silence falling out. There's a thousand excuses for her to fall back to the Tempest and leave the war infecting Voeld, but Ryder doesn't seem aware of any of them. "Your helmet's been damaged. Another impact to it and it may shatter, no? You've said you dislike the cold."

"Temperatures this low can kill me," she shrugs, nonchalant, as if death were but an inconvenience; to Ryder, it might as well be, after witnessing what strength she has. Perhaps she is aware, but again, does not care. "But a lot of things can kill me. If we're here, might as well help."

  
That's...

  
Almost noble. To go beyond what is expected of her, to help those in need, simply because she is present to do so. An alien from the past, leaving her war-less civilization behind based on a whim and a dream, so she can mend their broken one and heal their worlds.

  
"...If you'd prefer that." he replies, a little wary. Certainly, that's too good to be true.

Then again, he was so certain she could not possess the energy of falling stars either, and Ryder only proved him wrong there too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really sorry for the weird spacing in this chapter. tried to fix it like the other ones, but it's not cooperating with me. gomen


	3. Move to a place so far away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaal realizes that the Tempest crew is very much like a family. A really attractive family.

One of the humans has made an active attempt to bond with him, and Jaal's not certain if he should appreciate the enthusiasm of it all or not. "What?"

"An armor swap!" the male human, Liam, repeats brightly. "Like when we traded curse words. Remember?"

Ah, yes. After their argument of a meeting, when the alien had tracked him down to the tech lab just as he was moving into it, and bombarded him with foul language. In the best way, that is, though some things had offended. "I still disagree with comparing a woman's intimacy to... that of an Earth rodent."

"Cat's aren't rodents! But--er, right. You remember. I wanted to talk about that too, actually. Last we spoke, we didn't know how not to, uh, say the wrong thing. Cultural differences and all that."

He's still smiling of course, even as he nervously tugs at the collar of his shirt, still charming even when sheepish. Liam is like the sun in many ways, his teeth bright and grin gleeful, giving off an open-armed warmth like he's being welcomed into a home. It's terribly beautiful, in body and soul, that is until it burns him.

"Why don't we do an info swap while we're doing an armor swap? I ask you the hard questions, you ask me the hard questions. See if we push any buttons."

Jaal frowns at that. Their ship can handle being set ablaze, obviously, but Jaal would prefer if it wasn't while he was in it. "I don't think your engineer would appreciate any pushing of buttons."

"No, no, that's an idiom," Liam laughs, skittishness being replaced with something bemused and lighthearted. "See, that's what I mean. The pamphlet's tell you the basics, but if we really wanna know each other, we gotta learn the bad along with the good."

Jaal hums, considering. Liam has been the only one to converse with him without it being so self-centered, without expecting something in return for every slight push they make for the Resistance, without insisting that the war taking his peoples lives is but a sad situation that they don't care to stop, but his charisma can be his downfall as much as it can be of comfort. Perhaps it's all been a ruse, wheedling his defenses down with charmed words and eyes that twinkle handsomely, until he gives up tactics that can hurt all angara. Like weaknesses in their armor.

Then again, there's truth in his words. How can he decide them a threat or an ally, if he does not know them? How can he form a true, honest opinion of them, if he does not learn all of them?

"Does your Pathfinder have any say on this?" he prods, the field that was previously tight to his skin in caution fading at the edges, testing the waters. Ryder is most likely the more dangerous one of the crew, Jaal finds, and she would likely need someone of Liam's charisma to gain his intel. The man's grin only turns sheepish yet again, however.

"I... haven't told her," he admits. "Should probably do that, if I'm going to be mucking about with our supplies."

Liam's tomfoolery does wonders for his suspicions, smiling as he reaches a decision. If Ryder is unaware of his ministrations, and Liam is alone in this mission of his, then what true threat is there?

...Besides, he does not want to _avoid_ making friends. He's since gotten worried emails from his true mother, asking if these people are at the very least kind to him, and he has yet to find an answer to give to her.

"Then I see no reason why we should not try your experiment... after you tell your Pathfinder of it."

"Yes!"

* * *

 

He perhaps thinks too much on what to show this new friend of his. It is all foreign to him, all packed with new knowledge for him to learn, and yet he frets over if he should keep said knowledge tight to his chest or impress him with something advanced. His own armor is thickly leathered and taut with a fabric that's protective of air pressure and weather damage, just as much of a space suit as it is battle wear. Along the fine stitching, it is lined with advanced technology, meant for communication, translation, and protection of shields. Where so much of the art of his people has been lost, it is found in the grand structure of their arsenal, weaponized but nonetheless masterly.

The armor meant for new recruits is basic level, not quite as heavy or thick in it's leather, not only because their resources are spread thin but because trainees are sent to missions of low risk; there are times where their dissipating company could use the strength in numbers, but it is cruel and damaging to everyone to send someone unprepared into a fight even their superiors could not win. It would be of little help to the Initiative's 600 year wardrobe of metal plating, but it'd keep _his_ people safe from another bout of betrayal.

And, well, he's supposed to be cautious. Even if somewhere in his heart he feels a pang of guilt, remembering the Pathfinder shivering on Voeld, where she endured it's lethal temperatures to save them anyway.

When he is pinged to join Liam in his room, he brings the protection meant for rookies, across the research room and to the ladders. _Aliens_ , he reminds himself. _Cautious. Your people have been lied to before._

Liam starts chattering as soon as the automatic doors to his room sense his presence. "Okay, soooo. Haven't gotten the green light on this technically. But Ryder said she was okay with it, and I'll just use my own armor until then. If she changes her mind, that's on her."

Already, he is confused. Yes, _aliens._ It's so painfully obvious that he shouldn't be having to remind himself like this. "...What green light are you waiting for and why is it relevant?"

"Haha, it's an idiom! Green light kind of translates as permission to humans."

Yet, Ryder has not given it, and Liam is unafraid of the consequences that come with that. He see's a bit of Drack in the action, undaunted in the face of someone as intimidating as she, though not nearly as antagonizing; a sort of teasing that's... familial in nature.

"But I see you've got something for me!" the other grins, nodding towards the chest piece in hand. "Come on, let's try it on."

Jaal drops it beside the pieces littering the desk in front of him. "Yes. I've brought the most basic of protection. We give them to newly recruited soldiers of the Resistance--"

He hears a rustle of fabric, looks to his friend, and-- _Oh,_ his eyes widen at the sudden reveal of dark skin, Liam pulling his tight shirt up his torso, around his shoulders, and over his head to let it fall abandoned on the floor. He can see how supple the flesh is with the way it stretches and molds to his friends stance, but still it is hardened with muscle, dotted with dark little specs as if prodded with an art brush. There is no protective structure making up his chest like his own, instead smooth from stomach to neck, vulnerable and delicate and _worthy of his teeth._ Liam's built like a fine work of art, strange and surreal, yet handsomely statuesque.

A sudden rush crackles up his spine and back down again, a blush hitting his cowl like a punch. He didn't think Liam was--He didn't think Liam thought of him like-- _Oh._

By no means did Jaal board this ship for a romantic dalliance with a strange foreigner from another galaxy. His interest lies in saving the life of his revered teacher that's cherished by all of Aya, that's so soul-crushingly needed by all her people, and the Tempest drew him in by promising to bring her back. He cares about the Moshae being alive and well, safe in the arms of the angara once again, to be loved just as she always has been--

The fabric covering Liam's rear pulls tight as he bends to pick up a stray box of parts behind him, heaving it into his arms and dropping it on his desk in an impressive show of strength, the flesh under his skin rolling hypnotically at the motion.

...But, if he should have a romantic dalliance with a strange foreigner from another galaxy on the way, who would be the wiser? It's not like he can't have both. Undoing buckles that suddenly seem overcomplex and irritating, his eyes rip away from the exposure of skin in favor of tripping over himself as he peels out of his suit. Will he need protection, he wonders? Does his breath smell okay? Are they even compatible? Stars, what if he's allergic to his cum?

Does it matter, so long as he gets him to cum?

Skutt, he can see it now, Liam's face in rapture as he touches and sucks and kisses him to completion. He makes quick work of stripping, the cool air kissing his skin and leaving his muscles to tense and release, field crackling at the edges with excitement and arousal. Jaal idly wonders what he must look like to Liam as he leans himself against the back of his couch, canting his thighs just so, arching at his waist, trying to look desirable. He wonders, even more so, what Liams body will look like to him.

Except the silence drags on, the man in question having yet to even look at him, fiddling around with the components of his chest piece instead. Every second spent keeping this position, no matter how short, has Jaal feeling... awkward, exposed, like he's getting some lewd picture taken. Liam isn't even _trying_ to remove his pants.

He clears his throat, commanding his attention. "I'm ready."

Liam finally lifts his head, completely skimming over his naked form to meet his eyes, as if he hasn't even noticed. "Yeah, for the armor thing, right?"

...Oh.

_Oh no._

"Wow," he laughs just then, and the sound has the rifleman's stomach coiling in embarrassment, trying to swallow the rest of Jaal whole. What was he thinking? Why would he want this? Where in stars name did he throw his suit? "Are all angara comfortable with nudity or just you?"

"Yes." he replies a little too quickly, nervously, _stupidly,_ not quite answering at all. It's not a lie, exactly. With such large families, made larger by being shared with the community, he's had to share his privacy in the form of communal baths or shared bunks since he was but a child. Any shame in the angaran for their natural forms either simply never develops, or is discouraged by parents as a bad habit to be grown out of. But he knows that's not why he's undressed himself to the barest bone right now, and he'd put all his mothers and their mothers before them to shame if he admitted that he did so for the sole purpose of lying with this man; a possibly dangerous alien that he doesn't know that well, that could turn out just as bad as the kett, _a complete stranger._

Shame and guilt battle for attention as Liam's eyes finally do a quick once-over his bareness, the corner of his mouth twisting quizzically.

"Alright. I've got too many questions going on in my head now," If his crewmate catches him in his poorly constructed lie, he doesn't call him out on it, instead bemusing this sudden nakedness with a half-grin. "You go first. Try to offend me."

Jaal pauses with the prompt, still lost in his humiliation. Their exchange. Right. _Right._ He removes himself from the imbecilic pose that belongs in places like foul vids, and dirty photos, and _not on his person,_ rummaging through the millions of questions he's had about humanity since he first laid eyes on them. He starts with the most recent one that's popped in his head, but curses himself as it's leaving his mouth.

"Are humans not comfortable with their natural form?"

"I said 'try to offend me'," he scoffs, but still there is a grin, pearly white. "But I guess it depends on where you're at? Do you want a long version or a short version?"

His eyes are still scanning for the armor he so eagerly threw into seemingly nowhere, trying not to appear too obvious, but his initial embarrassment is shoved into the backseat of his mind and genuine curiosity begins to take the wheel. "Both."

"'Course you'd say that. Okay, long version first. Some human cultures don't really give a damn and actually walk around naked, but others find it really taboo. We have things like communal changing rooms and public restrooms and things like that, but they're separated by gender, and there are stalls for privacy most of the time. Outside of civilian life, like military or the Initiative, they'll tell you to suck it up and share though; if you can handle killing a guy, you can handle seeing your squad mates rear end, you know? Does that make sense?" he explains as his attentions return to the armor in front of him, and while it's a lot to process and doesn't make sense to what Jaal has always known, he nods. "The generalized version; where I come from, it's kind of inappropriate to flaunt your stuff. That kind of thing is reserved for bedmates and stuff like that. Now, like I said, try to _offend_ me."

Hm. He's bad at this. Heleus has only ever had a single race of people until the kett came along, and while they're no doubt discriminatory in their dictatorship, they are not an ordinary people of ordinary racism. Jaal--and all angara before him--aren't sure what is easily offensive, simply because they've had no one else to offend.

He's beginning to see the point of this exchange. If the Milky Way is to make this place home, both them and the angara must prepare for the coming culture shock, and respect it as it is. They are different. There will be times they do not understand each other, times they will inadvertently hurt each other, and they will have to accept that. This will allow Jaal and Liam to make mistakes, and thus learn from them, before that even happens.

It takes him another moment to think of a better question, his humility forgotten as he takes a tone bordering on accusatory--and, perhaps, hypocritical. "So humans are quick to sexualise everything, then?"

"What? No!" The chest piece is finally pried open as Liam's composure is, smile being wiped from his lips in a moment of shock before he bristles, thinks, and relents, smiling again. "Okay, yeah. A little."

Jaal has a grin of his own to return. "Is everyone from the Milky Way so easily flustered or just you?"

"Okay, you little shit, why don't you find out for yourself?" the other challenges, making the rifleman's field almost shudder and snap with excitement yet again, until he expands. "I need a different tool to deal with your armor. Go get a tool box for me? See how everyone reacts?"

Oh. Disappointment fizzles in his field, Jaal for once glad that humans do not possess the same bioelectricity that angara do. The corner of his lips tug into a frown at the thought of walking across the Tempest nude, however, less because he is ashamed of himself and more because he does not want to forcefully expose the crew to his visage. "Will they not be uncomfortable?"

"I mean, they gotta shower with you at some point anyway. If they don't see you naked today, they will some other," Liam reasons, shrugging. "Cultural differences remember? Better it be you than someone else."

While Liam is not wrong... "I'm still not so sure. I agreed to offending _you._ "

"Pussy."

Like just hit with the worst of putrid smells, his nose wrinkles almost instantaneously. "I told you I _do not_ like that word."

"It's also a word we use on someone that's a _coward,_ " his friend jokes, all too proud. " _Pussy, pussy, pussy._ "

" _Enough, Liam._ "

"I will give you five credits, if you can prove to me you're not a pussy."

He's almost entirely certain that Milky Way currency is worth nothing this far away from home, but still, Jaal's interest is piqued for the third time that day.

* * *

 

Cora's eyes could swallow suns with how large they get when he enters the bay. Jaal would take that as proof that, yes, everyone from the Milky Way is easily flustered, had it not been for the relaxation in Peebee's tone.

"Hello, Cora. Hello, Peebee."

"Hey--Jaal," The word snags in her throat, the edges of her... mask, tattoo, paint rising high, whilst Cora remains silent in her shock. "Before you take off, can I ask you something?"

He halts his stride, turning to her. Perhaps asari--that is the word, he thinks--are less taboo about this subject, like the humans are. Perhaps she'd like to ask about his biology, which would prompt him to start asking the crew about their own; it's inescapable to notice how many...strange shapes, legs, hands, colors and even voices he's been experiencing. While not quite as exciting as Liam's version, Jaal could use a cultural exchange with each crewmate. "Of course. What would you like to know?"

"Did someone steal your clothes? Or did Gil teach you what strip poker is?"

Ah. Disappointing, but still, he chuckles. "Ah, no to either, I'm afraid. We angara are very open about ourselves, in all aspects. I am only gathering some things from the Tech Lab."

"Got it," she nods, unbothered with his nudity next to Cora's steaming. "Honestly, I think we could _all_ take a lesson in this sort of openness. Cora? Thoughts?"

"No," Her words couldn't be any more immediate if she tried, and something tells Jaal that she certainly _did_ try. "Jaal, just--word of advice? Around the walking areas of the Tempest, anything below the waist has got to be covered."

"At least for Cora's sake," Peebee interjects, grinning up at him, unabashed with her roaming eyes. "For the record, _I_ do not mind the view _at all._ "

It's... delightful, how understanding Peebee is of this cultural difference. How she feels no shame when flirting with a species not her own. How she playfully shifts the blame, nudging Cora with an elbow, like a teasing sister. There's that familial nature again.

"Of course," he smiles, redrawing the outline of the others facepaint in his mind, powerless to notice the attractive shade of _green_ that takes up her eyes. Like burning emeralds. "Perhaps I will get back at you someday, in one of these ' _strip poker_ ' games I've been hearing so much about."

The corner of her mouth quirks up higher, and he can only recognize it as a smirk. "Okay, stud. Go get your thing."

While the flirting in itself leaves him feeling pleased, familiar, tickled from the inside out, he frowns at the thought that maybe a cultural exchange with each crewmate is a bad idea.

* * *

 

"Liam, I signed off on that project--" The mouth of Liams door emits idle chatter, one of the voices surrounding the conversation feminine, emotionless, yet hardened. A voice he can only recognize as the human Pathfinder. "You want to tell me where your shirt went?"

He enters through the door to see the appearance Ryder often keeps; loose bun at the back of her head, stray tangles falling from it, array of blue civvies that do not match her peers, stance hard and fists clenched, though this time she holds a datapad in one of her many-fingered hands. Certainly, she would not be one to react too extravagantly at the sight of him. Not when she hardly reacts at all.

As he approaches, Liam announces his entrance as if he were a performer, a little too enthusiastic as his teeth outshine the room and his eyes dance with mischief. "Jaal Ama Darav! We got our gear."

"Liam. Ryder." he greets as he reaches beside her, offering but a nod. Her head whips to look up at him, eyes meeting his only to flicker down, lips part, and--

The datapad meets her face with a resounding _smack,_ by her own hand, covering her eyes just as much as it does her entire expression.

It leaves Jaal momentarily wide-eyed, confused, and concerned. "Are you alright, Pathfinder?"

"Super," The word is hissed, datapad still pressed insistently against her forehead. "If I'm _interrupting_ something..."

Liam chimes in, his chuckle soothing and smile casual. "Just convience. Swapping armor."

"We're not naked under our armor, Liam, we wear body suits."

"Yeah, but I don't wanna do laundry," his friend snorts, eyes following Jaal's form as he steps alongside him. Jaal comes to the conclusion that--with a sliver of dispiritedness--if it is humanity that is easily flustered rather than the entire Milky Way, then Liam is surely an outlier of his galaxy. "You ready to go?"

"Go."

"Right. The pattern on your pauldron?"

Despite his 'green light', Jaal pauses at that. It's... a question that's awful personal for supposedly being about his culture, but he supposes that's the point. "Family honorific."

"Can I wear the poncho?"

"It's a _rofjinn_ ," he corrects, having _just_ stated it is an honor of his family. He doesn't know what a poncho is, but coming from Liam, it might as well be a slur. "And no."

"Why? Is it religious?"

It's a good question, but he spends a moment too distracted to answer as Ryder lowers the datapad from her face, where he discovers that she can _change color._ Where there was previously smooth skin the color of white, untainted sand, it is now blotched with something pink, not unlike his own skin. Except--deeper, _rosier_ , a splash of warmth among the ice. "Wait, what?"

"It's..." Her eyes snag against his gaze for but a sliver of a second, but it's enough to frighten his attentions back to Liam. " _Personal._ You're not allowed."

"Because of status? Or species?"

Something bitter boils in his blood at the mention of status, and his first thought is to say _no, of course not._ Jaal, out of anyone, knows how large the shadow of his family success looms. He's experienced first hand how much the reward of reputation takes from those lesser, how status only raises the stakes of a game he doesn't want to play. And though most do not think so, he's very aware of the whispers and looks he gets, gossip that he is an _unworthy child_ riding on the talent of others, that he is _too old_ to not have done something impressive himself, that he is born with recognition he _does not deserve--_

But that isn't what this is about. He has to offend Liam, and see how he reacts to being offended.

"Maybe it's both." he says, and the words feel like acid on his tongue.

A crack much more vicious shoots across the room, the datapad having been removed from Ryder's front in favor of being smacked against the desk, like a weapon of judgement. The blush has not left her face, but her expression has grown angry, disappointed, chastising, like his mothers when their children have willingly disobeyed. "I know how this goes. Someone's getting offended, and someone else punched."

He says nothing, the situation at hand enough to make him feel foolish. This woman only just reaches his very shoulders, is no doubt younger than him, yet she's been tasked with reeling in and snapping at two naked grown men before her, as if they are children caught doing something mischievous. If she were Evfra, he'd be punished with severe grunt work, yet even still Liam is able to argue with her so familiarly. "It's an armor swap for answers! Stuff the diplomats don't ask."

With Liam's initiative, he gains the courage to speak up for his friend, albeit with some stumbling. "I, er--My turn was earlier. Your Nexus Info packets leave _a lot_ out."

"We were joking around and realized we didn't know how to insult each other. Or not to," Liam follows, arguing his case with hands on his hips, defiant just as he is confident. Yet Ryder only hides herself again as he speaks, cupping around her eyes as she shakes her head. "Some things are so ingrained they're invisible. We didn't even know the warning signs, so we got it over with. Now we won't do it accidentally when we're trying to negotiate an outpost."

The biotic grows quiet as the exasperated hand slumps against her mouth, eyes following the riddled clothes across the floor before flickering to him, and Jaal feels struck. As if with his own bioelectricity, his field stands still and his body follows suit in paralyzation, Ryder's eyes both so dark and so piercing.

"Good enough explanation?" Liam prompts, reminding him he is not alone in this room, with but this predator to accompany him. It's a wonder how he can be so warm in her presence when they both know what she's capable of, when they've seen her traverse an entire kett base and _murder_ with raw energy, when she radiates such coldness.

"...Yeah, okay, I kind of get the intent," Her eyes release him, straying to a corner of the room to bend and pick something up, only to return and promptly shove it in his direction. "Just make sure you're all dressed when we get to the Nexus, at least."

It's his suit in her deadly hands.

She has a knack for finding his things for him, he learns with a sense of embarrassment, as he takes his clothing from her. "Yes, Pathfinder."

She offers him but a slow nod, not looking at him, but with Liam she has more words to share. "If you ruin first contact, it's going to be _me_ punching you."

"I _dare_ you," Horror strikes Jaal, his eyes going wide as they snap to Liam. "You know what'd be cool? If you, like--choked me with your biotics. Be like something out of a cheesy film. Do it, I _double_   _dog dare_ you."

When Jaal expects a flurry of blue, when he's prepared to duck for cover, Ryder snorts at the challenge instead, shaking her head. "You're such a nerd."

 _Nerd._ He gets a surreal sense of reebak-- _remembrance_ , Ryder saying it almost exactly as his younger sisters do, at the dinner table while they tug at the folds of his cowl.

"Okay, enough grilling on you, your turn." Liam speaks once she has shrugged off his provoking, leaving him to fiddle with his new toys once again. But he's watching after her shadow, like a phantom of her has been left in the room where she's left, shaped like a sister among family. He's still not sure if he's imagining this sudden comparison because he misses his own parents, siblings, and cousins, or if it's because he's getting to know this crew better. His mind could be conjuring up what he wants to see, reading tones he does not understand, seeing expressions he does not know are even biologically there.

"...Um, what does it mean to 'grill' on someone?"

"Like what we're doing. Shit-talking, joking, teasing."

"And--you and Ryder..." he starts, choosing his words carefully, confused. "You two tease?"

"Yeah."

He hums. So he's not wrong. "So you two are... friends?"

"You're _really_ awful at this," Liam scoffs, but seems to be seeing where this is heading before it even gets there, putting his tools down. "Yeah, we're friends. Why?"

"It's just--the two of you are so..." He thumbs the stitches that attach fabric to leather nervously. "She seems very distant, sometimes uncaring, and you do not."

"She's not uncaring!" the man defends. He was her one supporter back when they first met, and he is her one supporter now. "I know she's not very chatty, but--She's really funny. Nice when she wants to be."

He scoffs before he can stop himself, cycling through all his memories of the biotic in question; perhaps she is not quite _villainous_ , especially when she is fighting, but _kindness_ from her is something he cannot imagine. "You find Ryder _nice?_ "

"Hey, come on. You don't know her."

"I've _met_ her. The way you speak about her, it sounds like _you_ haven't."

That seems to offend Liam more than any question about humanity can, nose wrinkling and eyes defiantly straying from the rifleman, like even the game of boundary-breaking has lines that shouldn't be crossed. Jaal didn't realize he admired her so, the silence stretching between them as his friend all but _pouts._

"...Don't tell her I told you any of this, but she was kind of a trouble-maker back at boot camp," he finally begins before Jaal can decide on an apology, fiddling with the tools among the desk rather than using them. "She'd break things, or get in screaming matches with her dad, and--I get it, it's kinda _yikes,_ but then nobody would sit with her. Or ate with her. Or so much as talked to her. Such bullshit."

Apparently the Pathfinder is renowned for her strangeness and ferocity, but only now does he realize where the crew's frustrations come from. They speak no ill will to or about her, but still they doubt, still they give her difficulty, still they single her out. "So you did?"

" _Someone_ had to. I didn't join the Initiative just so everyone can start up a bunch of clichés. I'm still wearing her down," he smiles again, but with a sadness that does not suit Liam's features, nor his heart. "We're all going through a lot of shit right now, but I'm in her corner all the way. She's good. I've seen it."

Jaal knows little of Ryder, other than that she is lucky that Liam has the courage to stand by one so rebellious, so outcasted. The Milky Way species is that of risk-takers; sacrificing their comfort for discovery, testing the limits fate has for them, and Liam himself risking to be labeled a social traitor just to befriend the odd and the lonely, even when they may seem unwelcoming.

"You're a valiant friend, Liam."

It's enough to make Liam light up again, like the blinding suns. "Thanks! You are too, from what I've seen of you."

And, stars, is the radiance of that joy infectious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some Liam/Jaal and Peebee/Jaal flirting in this, as is natural for Jaal, along with a joke i made on tumblr a long time ago about the real reason Jaal undressed in front of Liam.
> 
> i promise there's going to be some actual Ryder/Jaal cuteness in the next chapter.
> 
> For those of you curious, "reebak" is angaran's version of deja vu.


	4. The silence guides your mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evfra's given him the task of inspecting the Nexus and these aliens inner-workings. It's--not like the Tempest, to say the least, and Jaal has a few things to say about how Ryder handles it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting to Jaal finding something positive about Ryder (don't let the first entire half of this fool you lol). If you're into Jaal being fascinated by hair and Addison yelling this is the chapter for you

“The Pathfinder has lead us to what seems to be the human’s home base, for resupply.”

“ _And?_ ”

“It is a ship called the Nexus, unlike anything we’ve ever seen--”

Evfra’s grainy voice sighs over the call, and Jaal can imagine him shaking his head in exasperation, embarrassment flushing his cowl. Curiosity certainly carries him away at the worst of times. “ _What are their_ numbers, _Jaal? Weapon systems? Any indication of a plan of attack?_ ”

He pauses. “Ryder is debating with her superiors about allowing me on.”

“ _And why is_ that?”

“I am not one of their own. They’re suspicious of my motives, since we've held off on forging an alliance.”

Another agitated sigh on the other end. “ _Of course. They come to_ our _galaxy, and yet_ we _are the aliens._ Ignorant.”

“I called to ask your thoughts. This Nexus is very large--larger than any kett ship we’ve encountered--and is no doubt filled to the brim with aliens. If the information is not worth the risk to aboard, then I can ask Ryder to stop defending for me.”

If he should not aboard, best not to get permission to aboard. Besides, while this is all very exciting, uncertainty fills him. On one hand, he’d be stepping on a beautiful beast of machinery like no angara has ever seen. On the other, he’d be stepping on a beautiful beast of machinery that’s overwhelmed with beings from another universe. They may not be as friendly as Liam, or as kind as Doctor Lexi, or as flirtatious as Peebee, or--

“ _I need whatever information you can get me,_ ” Evfra orders, despite that, leaving no room for comfort. “ _The Pathfinder hasn’t done anything susceptible_ as of yet, _but it wouldn’t hurt the Resistance to be prepared. In the event of an invasion, knowing where this ‘Nexus’ of theirs is weakest can be a hefty advantage._ ”

He ignores the anxious flip his stomach makes. “Understood.”

“ _Good. I will call you when I make use of the data you've found. Stay strong and clear._ ”

The communication ends there, leaving Jaal to his silence yet again. While the walls of the Tempest are thin, and he can hear every bit of banter that echoes off it’s steely walls, the rifleman is far more used to the chatter of Shelesh than he’s truly realized. Aya, Voeld, Havarl, they all hold their own handful of his very loud society but here--When he speaks to no one, there are no bickering siblings, no flirting cohorts, no gruff training strategies. Just the thrum of the ship and the distant argument of politics outside his room.

Which, has also gone silent now.

No use dawdling, he supposes. He stands from his desk and makes his way to the other side of his room, through the research room--where he nods to Liam’s grin--and walks up the ramp to the meeting room. Ryder is there, hands clenching the desk, head low like she’s in the middle of a solemn prayer.

Her hair is down.

Long. _Very_ long. Longer than he thought was possible, like a hooded cloak, cascading over her shoulders and twisting down the expanse of her back in a waterfall of rusty curls. It’d be almost vine-like in nature, if it hadn’t look so delicate and mussed with frizz, as if he could touch it and it'd fall to pieces. It's...

Fascinating.

Beautiful?

He must make a quizzical noise at the sight, because in his observing he finds her looking over her shoulder at him, staring back. He flusters under her chilling gaze, clearing his throat. “So?”

“So,” she parrots, a sigh on her lips. “They’ll allow you aboard the Nexus, but only if I’m there to supervise you.”

That puts a slight damper on his mission, as he doubts the Pathfinder will allow him any scans or to traverse any off-limit rooms. He’d be forced to judge, and then make _reports_ on that judgement, based on what these aliens were only _willing_ to show him.

“I have some business to deal with, but if there’s something you need that might be found there…” There’s an unspoken offer in there, making Jaal feel a surprising amount of… humbleness. It’d be quite something, having the Pathfinder halt her important duties for him, just like the rest of the crew. Yet again, as if he is a part of the crew, a part of their family.

“Ah, thank you, but don’t let me restrict you. I’d really only like to tour the place.”

“Okay,” she replies easily, standing straight, hair trailing behind her like a low flame as she brushes past him, her scent introducing itself to his nostrils and leaving him just as quickly. “Let’s go then.”

* * *

 

The Nexus is a hive buzzing in a desperate frenzy to right disorders all around, the current chaos that is Heleus having bludgeoned their plans in two. Every turn is filled with a mix of alien shapes and faces, all different, but irritated and panicking and _staring_ all the same. He see’s that their trust in each other is too slippery to grasp, protests filling the empty corners where workers are not, and tales of sabotage filling the spaces where they are. Jaal has yet to find a room where there is not bickering that borderlines screaming.

“ _Ryder_ ,” Especially none that is directed at the name spoken, a human female that is dusted with a heavy blue on her eyelids and laced with an accent like Liams charging for the Pathfinder, hissing venom. A part of him wonders if humans have some kind of selective sight, as she’s one of the few that doesn’t seem to notice he’s there. “Just _what_ do you think you’re _doing?_ ”

“Walking.” Ryder drawls, deadpan, not missing a beat as she carelessly passes the woman. For what little she says, it’s a wonder how she can fit such sarcasm in her sentences.

“You are supposed to be serving the _Initiative._ Establishing outposts, getting us a _home,_ ” the human bristles, following just as close as he does. “Instead, I find you running errands for a completely different corporation. We could starve in a month, Ryder!”

“The angara are dying right now, as we speak. Immediate danger takes priority.”

“ _We_ are your priority!”

He’s too busy debating on whether or not to be offended to actually say something, too conflicted in his feelings to voice them, field warbling anxiously at the sudden amount of anger unfolding in front of him. Was--she the one forbidding his access? Is his presence not a shock to her, as this conversation is to him?

“Getting rid of the kett helps you as much as them, Addison,” Ryder argues, tone like skin against gravel, very similar to when her patience thinned on the Tempest. “I’m working on it--”

“And what if you’re not working on it _fast_ enough?”

Ryder is just as quick to interject, the rifleman watching as diplomacy is abandoned to the floor, coming to a stop, whipping to face her accuser, and raising her voice. “ _\--What if, might be, maybe._ That’s the thing, Addison; people being kidnapped and enslaved don’t get the _privilege_ to _argue_ whether or not they’re in danger.”

The woman goes silent. Whether or not it’s from the stun of Ryder’s icy insubordination or her argument dying, Jaal can’t say for sure. Maybe it’s both.

“But go ahead,” Still the Pathfinder persists, gesturing to him with a lazy wave of her arm, and suddenly Jaal finds their attentions on him. “Tell him _you_ come first.”

Her eyes are wild and confused as she peers up at him, like an animal freezing at an unfamiliar sound, unsure whether to flee into safety or not. He can’t help but empathize with the emotion, caught on a string.

“He doesn’t understand me.” this Addison human finally glares, and _ah,_ Jaal finds some sense among the argument.

He clears his throat, unable to resist rubbing a hand across the expanse of his head in awkwardness. “We--have translators as well.”

Jaal sees much disorganization and foolishness in the Nexus’ alien occupants, but most of all he see’s sorrow. In the vocal strings rung ragged with anxiety. In the defeated slack of their postures. In the puffy, embarrassed, tired eyes of Addison as words that she understands reach her ears. These are a people running on little sleep, little patience, and littler hope, he realizes.

Faunia pipes up, not quite through yet, pressing and harsh. "How do you think I've been communicating with him?"

"You're a linguist!" she defends weakly, frazzled, before starting again as if she only realized how little sense that made after she said it. Jaal guesses that the real reason is that perhaps her stress, her sleep deprivation, her work drove her to berate the Pathfinder before reasoning on when and where. How awful it must be for the people of the Nexus, to be forced to sit back and only watch as Andromeda tries to swallow them whole. "And you have SAM, I--I do have to apologize to you for my behavior, Mr...?"

The Pathfinder only has a scoff to offer as the other woman saves herself by turning to him instead, leaving his side as Addison fumbles with professionalism and an apology. Standing straighter, speaking softer, confused when he tries to greet her with the presentation of his arm, and beginning a recital of what can only be known as political gain. _Diplomatic relations._ After she called the Resistance work errands. The fighters attentions are only drawn to the icy Ryder as this Addison goes on, attracted to the flick of her winding hair like an insect to light, as she grows smaller to the distance.

 _Linguist._ He didn't know that.

It isn’t long before the rifleman abandons the conversation as well, following the trail of her rust-red locks until he’s beside her in a transportation called a tram. It’s the only place of solace and silence, alone with the one person he doesn’t want it to be with. Ryder is an oddity, even among her own, unliked and outcasted. Riddled with cybernetics. A linguist in an era of translators. Still as stone. Emotions even more stilted than her peers.

 _Except when they’re not_ , he thinks, reminding himself of her destructive outbursts. Perhaps she contains herself, though not very well. He's not sure what Liam see's in her.

“So…” he starts.

“So.” she repeats.

_Enough of this vagueness._

“You used me to humiliate her,” he speaks up, for once unafraid of the human Pathfinders ire. “That is cruel.”

“Not you too,” she scoffs again, gaze stubbornly on the closed doors, upper lip curling in distaste. “I showed her she was arguing _about_ you, _in front_ of you. She should be humiliated.”

“Her anger is bred of worry, you know. Your people are… tired. _Frightened._ Tired of _being_ frightened.”

All she replies with is, “I know.”

“And you do not _care?_ ”

Yet again does she pin him with her cold eyes alone, squinting and defiant, her words leaving him just as stunned. "I know because _I'm tired of being frightened too, Jaal._ That's why I'm _doing_ something about it. _God._ "

He didn't think she could be frightened about anything, certainly never acting as so.

But in his silence, he watches as the steam of her anger finally evaporates from her shoulders. Her arms cross, eyes still indignant but tired as she stares at the door again, and Jaal realizes she reads of weariness too. “First day I came here, some woman got angry at me. Yelled at me about how I brought them to their doom by association, told me to go to hell, said she had already decided on _giving up_ and _dying._ ”

Confrontation takes a turn for confusion, Jaal stealing another beat of a moment to study her features, but only finding her familiar frowning. A tale of a no doubt very miserable woman, but it’s yet to answer his question. “So…?”

“So you're right. I _don’t_ care for it. Half the people here are choosing to sit around and cry themselves to pieces,” she finalizes. “I refuse to."

He's forgotten that she, too, is surviving.

It hadn’t occurred to him that something so otherworldly and powerful, something so cruel and cold, something so distant and othered, could struggle. So long have the angara been alone in their fight against the kett, that he hadn’t realized that now there are a people to spectate on it’s horror. To see the angara, and fear becoming them. To look upon their present, and see a glimpse of their future.

For Ryder, to see all those things, and decide to stubbornly endure.

Her little words hide such large thoughts. Ryder is not emotionless at all, he finds. She is furious _at_ her people, furious _for_ her people, furious _about_ this galaxy, and with all those feelings she creates a brave determination to survive. She witnesses their trauma like it were a future reading of their doom, and her first thought is to fight fate itself to change that, while the rest panic in circles. They fight her on it, complaining and shunning and disappointed, and yet Ryder chooses to act regardless if they like the action or not.

Ryder is not uncaring of their lives at all, but of their expectations.

A part of his mind is offended, patronized, but the rest of him feels only admiration. It's incredible, how unafraid of being demoted, being outcasted, being represented by her failures she is. The things that haunt him most days are but irritating _words_ to her.

When he speaks again, it's with a new tune. “You are frustrated with your people, because they want effort, but do not put it in."

“Not for themselves, not for anyone.”

“Not like you.”

An incredulous gaze meets his for a moment, and Jaal finds that uncertainty again where he’s seen it before. With finding his visor, with being called kind by the angaran woman whose brother she saved, with now. “I’m not--saying I’m better than them, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Not at all,” he frowns. So quick-witted with criticism, but shy with recognition. "I was simply acknowledging our work together."

"Before, you were calling me cruel." she accuses, as if in denial.

"You were," The actions of the past do not excuse the misdeeds of the future, Jaal likes to think, but still he grows sheepish. "But you are also..."

"I'm also _what?_ "

To be unfiltered is only natural for him as an angaran, and as such he doesn't find shame in the words he speaks, regardless if they sometimes hurt others pride; he won't take back his use of the word ' _cruel_ '. Yet, while his judgement does not feel unfair, perhaps his portrayal of it has been. Perhaps he is not unlike her Nexus, open and honest and almost eager with spreading his negativity, yet proving himself to be a hypocrite by never sharing his other thoughts on her.

Which begs to be asked, what _are_ his other thoughts on her? How deadly her prowess is, and even deadlier her risk-taking, among a sea of gunfire. How she broods in silence, until her anger comes to a hissing boil, prying her thoughts into the open. How, underneath that hardiness, there's someone that changes color at the sight of the naked form and bats away flattery. How she squints up at him now, waiting, quiet, frustrated, expecting another insult. Ryder is...

"There's... something _unique_ about you," he finally admits, finding the words. "Uneasy, raw, but... somehow profound."

She blinks the defenses of her scowl away into nothing, narrowed eyes growing surprised as a light pink fades in to replace the paleness of her cheeks. His interest is helpless to be piqued, delight reaching his lips in a smile; such willpower, such temperance, yet so easily taken back with flustration.

"I'm..." The turning gears of the opening doors give the conversation something to deflect off of, Ryder's sentence trailing off into what he suspects is something different as he follows her out of the cubicle. Pristine white fills his sights, in the cleanliness of the walls, in the rows and rows of bright lights. There's a special care taken to this wing of the Nexus, one Jaal can only recognize as medicinal. "I'm--I gotta--I need you to you stay out here. There's a lot of people still coming out of stasis, and they're going to be getting a lot of bad news when they wake up. Seeing a six foot tall alien first thing might be a little, uh, too jarring right now."

He gives only a hum and a nod, understanding. He is not the alien here, but he still is just as unknown to them as they are to him. If he were in their place, he would not want to wake to... hairy yet bald, round-headed, fleshy creatures, either.

 _Though Ryder's hair is not so unsightly_ , he's reminded as it brushes past him again, Ryder leaving his side once more and entering the mouth of a room only filled with neatly lined cots. He watches carefully as she approaches one of the few men standing, greying in the hair and wrinkled in the face--a question he tucks away to ask Liam about later--and has a conversation with him that he cannot hear.

They're by the cot of a man with rust-red locks not unlike her's, Jaal's quick to notice. However it's not until she looks to him, upon closer inspection, that he finds they share the same profile as well. The same broad nose, the same shapely lips, the same sandy-colored skin, yet on features that are softer than he's ever known to be on the Pathfinder. It's uncanny, a little disturbing how identical they are, like he's some sort of clone, or...

Or he's family. From the same litter.

Despite this, she does not sit in the space he does not fill, does not grasp his hand with a hopeful sorrow, does not move her mouth to tell stories to his sleeping form. Ryder merely watches over him, still and frowning, until she finally bends to brush the hair from his resting eyes.

She's not quite as stoic as she once had him think, emotions not as stilted as he once believed. Not uncaring of their lives at all.

Not cruel, either.

_Nice when she wants to be._

Something is planted in his heart just then, something slow and fond, and he has nothing but words of sparkling admiration when he reports back to Evfra and a list of Shelesh translated to human English.


	5. Inside this place is warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaal learns Ryder's first name, as well as SAM's.

“Liam.”

“Uh oh. Question,” the shorter human teases, reading his tone. Apparently, Jaal has a particular voice just for when he's quizzical, to which the rest of the crew has no qualms pointing out every time he puts it to use. Much to his expense. "What's up?"

“Earlier at the Nexus, Ryder introduced herself as the Pathfinder to someone looking for assistance, and their reply was strange,” he starts. “They said she was not _Al-ec._ I was a bit at a loss. Is that supposed to mean something?"

" _Ooooooh,_ ” Liam hisses, lips pulled back in a cringe to show clenching teeth, finally facing away from his monitor to devote his full attention. So often, things are awkward for humans where they are not for him, and Jaal cannot decipher as to why. “It’s, uh--I think whoever said that was confused too. Everyone’s familiar with Alec Ryder, Ryder’s old man, so. Just a mix-up of names.”

Jaal feels the ridges that make up his brow furrow. So, if this _Alec_ Ryder is _Ryder’s_ father...

“Do you mean to tell me Ryder is a surname?”

Liam nods. “Yeah.”

“So everyone refers to one of Ryder’s fathers by his first name,” Liam seems to shrink, Jaal’s tone chastising him alone. “But no one refers to Ryder by _her_ first name?”

“ _Yeees?_ ” he shrugs, adopting a popular human habit of making a question out of words that are not one. The Resistance fighter finds his meaning is obviously lost to the other, frown pulling at his lips.

“Why are you and the crew bullying her?”

“Sorry?”

“You should be.”

“No, I mean--” The former HUSTL agent barks with laughter, raising his hands as if Jaal is lunging at him in attack. Always radiating with cheer and sunshine, even when in trouble. “How are we bullying her, man?”

“If you were to call me Ama Darav, you could mean anyone simply related to me. You would be calling a single person multiple, as if there wouldn’t be a point in distinguishing us,” he explains, huffing. The entire crew has refused to call her by her name this whole time, and apparently they see humor in it, like cruel schoolyard children. "A family name is something to be proud of, but we have given names to make us individuals. What is wrong with Ryder’s true name that you will not use it?“

"It’s not that!” Liam defends, obnoxious grin still lighting up his features, far more amused at his friends offense than he should be. Which is not at all. “In human culture, it’s professional. Polite. Like, um--when you use sir or ma’m, but a name-version. It’s considered respectful.”

Jaal opens his mouth again in protest only to close it just as quickly, the confused furrow of his brow no doubt returning. To the angara, respect goes hand in hand with familiarity. Full names provided, but true names when referenced. Linked arms and shoulders held, striking fists and gnashing words, bodies pressed against bodies. The most respected of titles are only _earned_ when given by all of society, unabashed of their perception of those that surround them. The rifleman cannot think of a moment where respect was exhibited by keeping ones hands from another like they were diseased, or refusing to utter ones name like it wasn’t worth their breath.

But humans are not angara. Keeping each other at arms length, frightened off by open touches and open words, as if the truest forms of their nature should be hidden. Affection kept private, displeasure bitterly swallowed, replacing all contact with lies. How is that polite? To think they even do so with their names. Jaal has been beside Ryder for quite some time now, killing with her, traveling by her side, bleeding together--and yet he’s been calling her the wrong name.

“Is your name not Liam either?”

At that, Liam’s toothy smile disappears like his joking has caused someone to weep, mouth running away with his words as it always does. “No, no, of course it is! You know everyone’s first name. Everyone here introduces themselves by that, ‘cept Ryder. She's a soldier, so..."

"Technically, I am as well."

"Well, I mean. With the N7 family and all, she’s used to it, I think? Total army brat, y’know?”

“…I do not know.”

“Okay. Think of Ryder as a kid, in a sort of military environment--” Sorrow touches the confusion in Jaal’s face, Liam making a poor attempt to recover. “Not in a war or anything! But, y'know. Saluting, _yes sir, no ma’m_ , firm handshakes--Well, angara don’t have handshakes…”

The others lips pull into a taut line, and Jaal mimics the expression, already knowing it’s a concept too difficult to be put into words; much information has been shared, even more has been learned, but even still there are some things a translator cannot help him grasp. There are some things he must dig into himself to understand.

Most of those things involve Ryder.

* * *

 

It’s in the kitchen, the crew having already grabbed their collective seating to wait for Drack’s stew, that he decides to ask. It’s almost strategic in it’s thinking, having her profess to the entire ship what her true name is, so that those who _don’t_ know _do_ and those who _did_ know will _have to_ now that they’ve heard it. It also may be because she’s placed herself next to him, staring into her mug and fiddling with the curls of her hair silently, boredly, having Jaal sit on the edge of his seat wondering all the possibilities it could be. What foreign letter it starts with in her alphabet, if it fits well with her round features, how her alien name will feel on his tongue. These things didn’t come to mind when they first introduced, back when he thought it was just Ryder, but now that he knows he’s gone so long without it it feels a little anticipating.

“Ryder.”

“You've tuned in on the Tempest, to another episode of _‘Jaal-asks-a-question’_.” he hears Gil take on the voice of some sort of television host beside him, more than a few chuckles following the joke, except for his as they leave Jaal in a wave of exasperation.

“What’s up, Jaal?” Thankfully, Ryder pays the teasing no mind. By all means, he can live with the playful banter, as he’s grown up with more siblings than the Tempest can hold. But Ryder understands he asks because he doesn’t know, appreciates that he’s willing to learn, and is prepared to indulge his curiosity without so much as a quizzical look towards his lack of education. It’s refreshing, not having to go through a series of ribbing before he’s given an answer.

“Would it be alright to ask what your name is?”

Though, at that, she does raise her head to cock a brow at him. “Ryder. You just said it.”

“I mean your true name. I’ve only just realized that ‘Ryder’ is a family name. I’ve never heard you give _your’s._ ”

“…Oh,” Her expression falls, as if she’s just realizing it too. “It’s Faunia.”

_Fawn-ya. Faunia Ryder._

“Faunia,” he repeats, just to feel how it fits in his mouth, a smile touching his lips. Not like her at all, but all the more endearing. The memory of Vetra telling him that human names have meanings fresh in his mind, he imagines that perhaps her mother expected her to be someone of grace and propriety, and got a rebellious warrior instead. “Very elegant.”

“Yeah, _fancy._ ” Drack parrots, though he suspects the tone is teasing.

“Better than Drack,” Cora defends, always prepared to combat his bullying. “Just listen to it. _Drack._ Like a punch in the gut.”

“Sounds about right.”

As the party banters around them, Jaal gravitates towards Ryder--now Faunia, he’s persistent to remember--leaning towards her. “Why do you not address yourself as such more often?”

“Didn’t realize I hadn’t,” she shrugs. “In the military, everyone refers to you by last names. I’ve always been just ‘Ryder’.”

Jaal hums, still digging, still trying to find the root that grew this habit in the biotic--because it certainly didn't grown in humanity as a whole, or Faunia would not be an outlier among her crew. Always an enigma, always different, always alien, even among her own. “But this rule does not apply to your father?”

The rifleman watches as a line kisses between her brows and a glare shifts away from him, following her gaze to find Liam in it’s sights. A rather guilty look on his face at that, sinking further and further into his chair in futile attempt to blend into it.

“Not when we were all together, no. Didn’t apply to my brother either,” she mumbles, bitterly, quietly, as if she wants no one else to hear. “Military didn’t like me as much as those two.”

"Your brother?" he asks. "Is that the man you visited on the Nexus? The one who looks like you?"

A pause, lips twisting in a frown, but Faunia eventually gives a slow nod. "You saw that, huh? He's my twin, Freddy--or Frederic, as N7 liked to call him."

Jaal’s smile finally falters. A trouble-maker. Screaming matches with her father.

Perhaps the Milky Way expected her to be a child soldier, a personified handbook, standing in a neat line to salute--and got a rebellious warrior, instead, as well. _An army brat._ Perhaps they punished her for being just that.

"Frederic is not a very good name," he says, grin returning tenfold when her eyes meet his, finally interesting her. "A little hard on the tongue."

"That so?"

"Not like your name. _Faunia._ Very... beautiful, for something so alien."

The oven chimes in signal that their long awaited food is ready, demanding the crews attention, but Jaal’s eyes don’t leave Faunia’s face as the knit in her brow softens at his words. He spends the rest of the day chanting her name in his head, driven to make it come as naturally as breathing.

* * *

 

" _Doing a mission or two in our name does not garner the trust of an entire people, Jaal._ "

Evfra is well-meaning, is cautious and protective of their people and what belongs to them, but right now he frustrates him with reminders of the Nexus. Faunia has freed their troops from slavery and death, has gone above and beyond what was asked of her, and is now offering to help save one of their most beloved while getting nothing in return. If not for gaining an ally amidst their war, then why should she not come simply because they need the extra guns?

"You've tasked us with these missions in exchange for your trust. The Pathfinder met and overcame your expectations. I am... _unaware_ as to how any of that has made you change your mind."

" _It hasn't. I tasked_ you _those missions for the good of our people. I_ allowed _Ryder to complete them for you, in exchange for my_ tolerance." he corrects, the pixels making up his nose sneering in distaste.

"But--Faunia's good deeds are genuine."

This time, the lift of his brow accessorizes his sneer. " _I wasn't aware of any 'Faunia' on this ship._ "

"I've discovered Ryder is a surname; it's tradition for human military to be addressed as such. She's come to trust me enough to tell me her true one."

" _Why would_ \-- _ugh._   _Forget it. Never mind,_ " Evfra doesn't hide his exasperation, obviously frustrated with the confusion humans bring; he is not as interested in the differences between himself and aliens, often having to remind Jaal to cut his cultural learnings short and only report on what he was tasked with. The rifleman wishes he'd be more open-minded, because regardless of the outcome these aliens are here to stay, and the coming shock will only be harder to deal with the more he pushes it away. " _Whether or not the Pathfinder is genuine is up for debate. You and I both know she could very well be doing this to get in our good graces._ "

"You allowed me on this ship to assess them," he still persists, as gently as he can, in desperate attempt to be a subordinate but still defend Faunia's nobility. He knows he is a harsh leader, and Jaal wants nothing to do with getting on his bad side, but he'd put the very same leader to shame if he did not push his boundaries. "This is what I've assessed."

" _I also instructed you to be cautious. You're being naive, Jaal,_ " his leader accuses pointedly, but it is not an insult, nor is it out of offense; if anything, it is more so out of concern. While the fighter feels his trust is not out of place, he can see that through Evfra's eyes it may have come too soon, it may have been given too freely from a place of _hoping_ rather than _knowing._ " _I won't say your work hasn't been diligent, Jaal, but I'm noticing an increase of_ praise _for these aliens in your reports. What's gotten into you?_ "

He grows quiet under the criticism.

He's not certain either. Or rather, he's not certain which drove him to this first. If it's Liam's friendship, or Peebee's flirting, or the muss of Faunia's long hair and her hard determination.

She's so strange. Stunningly attractive, outrageously heroic, like something from a movie had it not been for her underwhelming lack of enthusiasm.

Like his thoughts possess her presence, she comes before Evfra comments on his lack of answer, approaching the round table and stepping in for Evfra's view with only a simple greeting. "Evfra."

" _Pathfinder. Jaal's been keeping me updated on your..._ " The Resistance leader goes on, giving him a pointed glance through the vid feed, and Jaal feels heat creep up his cowl. "'Adventures', _your_ 'good deeds', _on our behalf._ "

If she thinks anything of his poetics, she says nothing on them, addressing the Resistance leader directly instead. "I meant them. I want to prove myself, and prove that you can trust me."

" _You rescued Shavon gaad. His loss would've been hard for the Resistance,_ " he notes, but his recognition is short-lived, testing the Pathfinders patience instead. " _But your true agenda is clear; to explore Aya's vault. Jaal says you want to help find the Moshae..._ "

Faunia doesn't fear being seen as she steals an idle moment to give Jaal a withering look, the message being clear despite her lack of words. The doubt never ends, does it?

" _Why should I let you?_ "

Her back straightens, but her formality does not. "I've kept my promises so far, haven't I?"

"So far," he shoots back, but withholds his judgement on the sudden presentation of impudence. " _Keep it up, and our bond will grow stronger. Until then--We've managed to trace the Moshae to a special kett facility on Voeld._ "

"Why special?"

" _These facilities are protected by a dynamic shield tech we... haven't been able to crack,_ " Jaal supposes this is why Evfra took so long to report back on their findings, despite working as often as he breathes. He's always been one to practice _exhausting their options_ before settling for failure, always been one to _try harder_ before delivering bad news. He wishes he saw that Faunia and him are same in that aspect. " _We're close, but it's ability to adapt outstrips the speed of our current processors._ "

Silence fills where she should be responding, the biotic seemingly distracted for a sliver too long, and he's not certain if she's choosing her words so uncharacteristically careful or if she truly wasn't listening. He almost prompts her attention, before she finally speaks with a newfound insistence.

"Evfra, I can help. Respectfully, this time you _need_ my help."

"'Respectfully', _the angara don't_ need _anything from you,_ " And his withholding finally ceases, offended, mocking her unwise tone. " _We take care of our own._ "

"--I can guarantee the shield breach with the processing power of my AI."

_Her what?_

Knowing now, it makes much more sense in terms of interacting with Remnant, rather than simply believing she just _could._ But, still, Jaal finds himself dumbfounded. When was this? Did they tell him this already and he simply missed it? Such a large thing to hide.

" _AI?_ " his commander's voice echoes his surprise, but it seems to confirm more of his suspicions than it does Jaal's, far more accepting than curious. " _Of course, that makes sense._ "

"He's physically connected to me, so I need to--Well. I _want_ to go."

 _Physically_ connected?

With all the cybernetics she already possess, he feels he shouldn't be so surprised, but an _entire AI._ That seems so... dangerous, especially after the lethal fiasco Voeld's ancient one caused. To attach a sentient being to oneself--does her risk-taking know no bounds?

The conversation seems to go on without him, uncaring of his endless confusion. " _It was risky to be honest about you AI--and honesty makes you different from the kett._ "

"You've been honest with me about your information. It wouldn't be fair to withhold mine from you."

" _No. It_ wouldn't," he confirms, gruff as ever, but otherwise relents. " _You're welcome on the mission. A team will meet you at our base on Voeld. They'll take you to the kett facility._ "

"Thank you." she nods.

" _I only ask that you don't make me regret it,_ " he warns. " _Stay strong and clear. Goodbye._ "

The feed is cut, Evfra's visage vanishing out of existence to leave them alone together. He watches on in silence as Faunia's shoulders slump from their stiff professionalism, her chest rising and falling with a sigh.

"I wish you'd told me of this AI sooner," he finally says, though not accusatory, trying to gently tease instead. "It would've saved me from the arguing."

But she does not snort like she does for Liam. "Sorry. I don't like--Well. I don't like _thinking_ about it."

He presses on, despite that. "You said it is... _physically_ connected to you?"

" _In the form of an implant, I am,_ " a voice appears through the room's intercoms, he thinks masculine, but unmistakably robotic. " _I am referred to as Simulated Adaptive Matrix, or SAM. It is good to finally meet you, Mr. Ama Darav._ "

 _SAM_. Ah, something he thinks he heard Addison utter once, in her rush to argue with the Pathfinder. So, it was not hidden, but not quite open either.

"It's in my brain," she answers, rolling her eyes but not looking at him. "I can't take it out."

Oh. "Is it painful?"

"...I can't say it is, but I don't like--having _company_ in my own head," she shares, and then he watches as she almost instantaneously refutes her own complaints, looking up at him with a cocked brow while trying to ease the air with a joke instead. "Plus, he doesn't shut up as much as I'd like."

Something tells him this was not a _willing_ process.

He frowns, remembering when she had sacrificed their history for the life of one person, instantaneous and angry. She didn't have to think about it, didn't have a question in her mind as she grumbled ' _this is why AI's were a bad idea_ ' and pulled the trigger. She just knew, the history of a person was favored over an emotional piece of machinery. Neither Jaal nor Evfra disagreed with her quick-thinking, but perhaps it was not entirely selfless. Perhaps there was a _grudge_ in the pull of the trigger.

"Perhaps he will be mostly quiet once we get through the shields," he tries to reassure, smiling. "We will be too busy saving the Moshae."

"...Yeah. And we _will_ save her." It makes his smile broaden, her bravery, her courage, her assurance. Like how she was with Voeld's AI, she does not see their success through wishful thinking--she simply knows it will be their's.

 _Faunia. Faunia Ryder._ Like breathing air anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while i get how it worked with programming, i thought that realistically it was kind of mean/funny that absolutely everyone at ryder's job will refer to your family by first name, except for you. really works out for the narrative i gave my ryder though.
> 
> also sick as hell this week, but still trying to bang out some chapters. im gonna be on a trip next week and i'm not entirely sure if i'll have internet access or not, so maybe no update next week? we'll see.


	6. Outside it starts to pour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescuing the Moshae is no easy feat, on his body or his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry crisis! i want ya'll to meet my good friend, angst 8)

When all kett have fallen, only _he_ is left.

For once in his life, he fears pulling the trigger, regretting adding to the long list of angara he's apparently already slaughtered with nothing but malice in his heart. There's a corner of his mind that tells him _don't look_ , a fragment of his mothers nurturing telling him not to expose himself to the creatures inevitable demise, but even as he looks away his twisting visage has seared through his sight and branded itself so fresh in his mind. His stomach churns as the other struggles against the gunfire of the Pathfinder, bracing for each blow to be followed by silence, but it never seems to come. It drags on for what feels like eternity--he needs this to stop, the Moshae could be one of them by now, when the kett have been one with them all this time.

 _All the same_. They're all the same. His worst enemy has been his own self all along. _Needs this to stop_.

"Kosta!" he hears the fierce snap of the Pathfinder and, like it's in his genes to worry, his eyes snap over his cover to see what damage has been done to his friend. Instead, he finds the HUSTL agent training his gun on the victim shooting at them, left just as confused with the discipline.

Faunia, just as so, doesn't have a gun trained. Her back pressed against the measly crate substituting as cover. Only her biotics in a defensive shield, snapping at the edges, already cracking under stress, and at the sight Jaal's gut twists.

She won't shoot him.

The victim, as he shoots on with a face of bone and just as much emotion, will kill her at this rate.

Jaal looks through the scope of his rifle just as he does his own tears, hands quivering against the trigger, a shudder ripping through him as he takes aim, and tries not to think of the man’s family as his index _presses_.

It's the first time the ricochet of his rifle has ever made him feel ill with motion-sickness, dizzy in the head, and when he approaches his fellow brothers corpse his knee's fail to hold him strong.

He's a monster.

He hears his name being called distantly.

_He's a monster._

"They...are us," The hit admitting it aloud sends to his heart has him crumbling, sorrow bursting and sent overflowing like a dam as his sobs betray his composure. How many of his own has he killed? How many fathers, mothers, sons and daughters has he murdered in the name of their very loved ones? How many families has he ripped apart? "They are us."

How often has he done so, _enjoying_ it?

"How many have I killed, not knowing? Faunia, I--I did not know--"

But a metallic yet gentle hand smooths over where his heavy heart lies, keeping together it's shattering pieces, giving a spiritual warmth where it lacks in physical. His tear-swollen eyes snap to it's source, and while the image of Exaltation is forever burned into his memory, it's like it momentarily crawls away to hide from her radiance. The Pathfinder, Faunia, an alien of all people, giving him her hands so he can anchor himself back to reality.

"How can I help?" she asks, pleading, desperate to ease his burdens, and Jaal's certain she can feel the way it makes his heart stutter. "What do you need?"

Always helping his people, always giving to his galaxy, always somehow caring for a home that is not her's. This alien, with her foreign hair, and strange accent, and deathly scowl, is so much... _kinder_ than she thinks she is, leaving him drowning in his awe.

"That is kind. I..." he shudders heavily around his words, hardly able to breathe as tears threaten to spill again with these wounds so fresh, but she has already surprised away the current ones with but the touch of her fingers. How could one help from this? Even with all her power and stubbornness, what is there she could possibly do? "I don't know."

He watches as plump lips press in a tight line, something bold and determined crossing over her worry. Jaal feels safely guarded in such an expression, feels inspired in such emotions.

"Then lets start by finding the Moshae," she promises, brazen, hand leaving his hammering heart to catch his arm and help him to his feet. "And then get payback for the rest."

"Yes," he whispers, like a prayer, because he feels every bone in his body believe in her; there will be a time to be sorrowful, to be tearful, to mourn later. "Yes."

Right now, it's time for him to be everything that is angry.

* * *

 

Upon seeing the Moshae and the shuttle ready to disappear with her, a sense of dread fills Jaal that tells whispers of _another failure_. Another one lost to the kett. So long ago had the Resistance mourned and accepted the loss of their beloved Moshae, and now the rifleman fears he got his hopes up only to be crushed again.

But Faunia isn’t having it. Angry, vengeful, passionate, for a people not her own.

Her eyes hit his teacher only seconds after his own do, and at that she breaks into a full on sprint, straight to Cardinal as if the surrounding kett aren’t worth her attention. Roaring out her rage, bulldozing through an ocean of gunfire, washed in blue fire like a goddess scorned. The sort of primal in the Pathfinders step has the Cardinal running scared, zipping to the far side of Faunia every time--but all in vain when she all but _body checks_ into her in a flurry of blue, gritted teeth and eyes promising _death._

When Jaal isn’t infected by her vengeance, when he isn’t making his own battle cry and coating the floor with kett blood, he finds himself mesmerized by Faunia.

There's an almighty drumming in his chest, so forceful in it's noise it is, knocking the wind from his lungs and threatening to pry the protective structure of his chest open every time he catches sight of her, and he's not sure if it's adrenaline or the makings of her fierceness. Her unstoppable power. Her beauty.

When all kett lie dead but not defeated, when the Moshae is standing but ill beyond belief, when Cardinal has been beaten into submission but still threatening to invade and control until they’re wiped out, Faunia wrinkles her nose like she’s been reminded of something putrid and clenches her fist like she’s ready to take on an army. She braves horror and hopelessness and tyranny and hisses in it’s face, a barely contained tremble in her voice that makes the beat in his chest stutter in a way that’s wonderfully agonizing.

“You don’t get to decide what’s great.”

Stars, she’s something special.

Even more agonizing is the pang of realization that he will not see her again after they leave this place.

* * *

 

Even with the Cardinal's compromise and her graceless death, the kett do not let them escape with their prize so easily.

"No kett can stop us now! We defeated them here, where they live!" the Moshae shouts, as hardy with inspiration and as bright with brilliance as she ever was. Even when she has been through unimaginable torture, even when she feels at her weakest, even when she feels at her smallest, her heart beats with courage.

The Moshae's and Faunia's determination together eases every ounce of uncertainty, steeling him. "That's right!"

But he makes the mistake of breaking away from his teacher when the battle gets especially chaotic, crowded with ravaging Anointed and an entire pack of Fiend's trailing heavily behind them. The pillars make it too hard to shoot via sniping, Jaal having to desperately wind through the forest of metal to exterminate each kett before they get too close to the landing platform, forced to use his sniper as a handgun or messy his hands with the blood his firaan spills. If he allows this flock of kett to cram them into a corner, they will surely perish before help arrives.

It isn't until Liam shouts something about being ' _too close for comfort_ ' that he looks back.

A Fiend mere feet away from the Moshae, inches compared to the steps of a beast so large, her feet standing their ground stubbornly but her face slack-jawed with horror. Jaal summons all the speed he can muster into his legs and bolts towards her in a frenzy, ignoring the incoming cracks to his shields, dropping his previous target as his heart pounds with fear--

A comet meets the side of the Fiend's crown with an almighty violence, cracking it's hard shell and destroying it's sense of royalty as it roars out it's protest, it's offense, it's agony. It makes Jaal almost stops dead in his tracks, but he recognizes that anger anywhere, blue with coldness but hot with ferocity.

" _Come on!_ " he hears Faunia howl, and his eyes find her ignited in blue hellfire, knowing the comet was actually her. "Follow the birdie, you _hard-headed freak of nature!_ "

Like a true king to a rebel, the beast turns it's ire on her instead, stampeding back down the platform with death in it's heavy steps and maw wide with intent to maul. She hops five steps with every one it takes, drawing the monster farther and farther away from the Moshae, sacrificing her own safety for her well-being--and still she does not face away from the source of her danger, shooting off biotics at rapid pace, to match her wild eyes and bared teeth and screaming curses.

Over the swarm of gunfire, he hears the deafening approach of an air shuttle closing in, and immediately he begins his beeline for the Moshae again.

"Jaal, get her on the shuttle!" he hears Faunia order over the comm. through her teeth, obviously struggling with the burden she's hauled onto her shoulders. "Liam, cover for him!"

But he does not question it, not yet, the rescue of his withering Moshae prioritizing over the strife of the powerful Pathfinder. "On it!"

Liam takes the time that the rifleman does not have to be concerned for him, interjecting as he trails behind him. "What about you?"

" _Just go, god dammit!_ "

He skips every other step as he makes his way up the stairwell, his teacher's field dropping dead and her body going limp with exhaustion the moment his arm meets her waist, and he rushes her into the safety of the shuttle before he turns to aid Faunia. He brings the rifle to his eye, following the Fiend's cracked head; he will not be able to pierce the hard bone there, but at the very least he can blind the beast--

His scope fills with scorching blue.

It's radiance offending his eyes, he drops his aim only to find the entire field being _ravaged_ in it's essence, going off like a hungry minefield and ripping loudly at whatever is in it's wake. It swallows the ketts out of his sights, along with the floor under them and the pillars that once protected them, and along with _Faunia._

He calls her name, curses when no answer comes, and is about to go running into the sea of death before she comes stumbling up the steps. The doors begin to whir close upon her arrival, Faunia rushing forward just in time. " _Go go go go--_ "

He whirls to buckle into his seat just as Liam does, grasping at the Moshae and tucking her into his lap, against his chest, to protect her from the lunge of lift-off. Gunfire sounds off again, screeching against the metal plating of their shuttle and threatening to burn it open, but soon Jaal feels them leave from the ground and grow distant with the outside danger.

And then it's quiet. So, so quiet, leaving them to reflect on their impossible victory whilst they danced with the end of their lives.

They did it.

They infiltrated a kett facility and lived to tell the tale.

Jaal sighs the quivering remains of his adrenaline away, not quite relieved. Or proud. Or anything entirely positive with what was discovered, the dread of this information settling heavily back onto his heart. It has to be the biggest hit they've had on the kett as of yet, and still it is only a half-win, with the war still prevailing tomorrow. With their people still being taken and turned against them, by the hundreds, again and again, the next day.

He looks to the woman he's cradling in his arms, but her greying, sickly face is off staring at Faunia in a cocktail of indigence and horror. She feels his eyes and merely offers him a glance, conveying words she does not say, before glaring back. He can't work up the energy to laugh, even though it's funny. After her performance on the battlefield, _she thinks she's insane._

"You're bleeding an awful lot, Pathfinder." she croaks, and it spikes his fear up tenfold, jolting forward as his eyes shoot up to the biotic in question. A nightmarish crimson streams thickly through her nostrils, over her lips and dripping down her chin in buckets, her eyes weak as Liam's hands cup her jaw and tilt her head back.

He nearly jumps out of his own skin to assist. "We need a medkit--!"

" _No we don't_. It's fine, it's fine," Faunia waves off blindly, tiredly, not sounding particularly in pain. "It's just my implants."

"I--Implants?"

"For biotics," she expands, even when her eyes are closing in what he can only recognize as an attempt to calm a storm of a headache. "They like to go on the fritz and give me nosebleeds when I stress mine out."

Jaal's body goes slack again, giving in to another bout of exhaustion after a second tizzy of panic. Or, surely, it's been more.

"'Im- _plants?_ ''" he hears Liam whisper distantly in the foreground. "As in plural?"

"Shut up, Liam. I'm hurting."

Maybe once he's back home, he can figure out just how many, he thinks as he closes his eyes to rest.

The Moshae shifting in his arms to get comfortable, while it serves as a gleeful reminder that she is so alive, also calls to mind that the Tempest is no longer his home.


	7. Nothing I wouldn't want to tell you about

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The after-effects of saving the Moshae result in a mixture of trauma, newfound hope, and... blossoming romance. Evfra's got a few choice words at Jaal's sudden decision to stay.

There’s much he learns once they’re safe and sound on the Tempest.

That Faunia and the Moshae currently _do not_ get along. Sjefa is angry with the Pathfinder as she was with him, and both are _gosavar_ , stubborn just as they are strong. He knows that, when the wound is not so fresh, she will be wise enough to see how similar they are and offer her teachings more freely. If she can befriend an ignorant fool like him, even when he has failed her expectations and classes, then surely she can find peace with someone as dedicated as Faunia.

But most importantly, he learns that the kett have been turning all those they’ve kidnapped to infest across the galaxy like germs. That the Moshae was only kept alive to be tortured as a pet for the Archon. That his father, his brother, Allia, all his lost loved ones shared the same fate. That, as his duty as a fighter, he has to swiftly _get over it._ A life of war allows little mourning, and the Archon will not wait for old wounds to heal before creating new ones.

That does not stop it from stealing his hours of sleep, even when he is overcome with exhaustion. After speaking with the Moshae and locking himself away, for hours he would toss and turn, hoping to retire early and put off the inevitable suffering that would consume him--but it will not allow him, it seems, Jaal trying to find comfort in ripping his rifle to pieces instead.

But a face more calming than any form of sleep thankfully graces him, just as the night hours of the Tempest come, Faunia sacrificing sleep to yet again offer her shoulder. She comes to him when the walls of the ship have quieted itself of crews banter, everyone no doubt having already shrugged off their armor and as freshly showered as she, in the comfort of their civvies and beds whereas Faunia stands in his doorway with her fingers twisted in her's.

"...Hey." is all she says, as if she is here by mistake, rather than to counsel him.

"Hello," he says back, smiling thinly. "Thank you for checking, but I'm... alright."

"Don't know if I would be."

She is much kinder than she lets on. It almost makes his sorrow _worst_ somehow, reminding him that he’s leaving the one place where he could do something about this--this _perversion_ of his people. Along her side, she allows him to make true changes, put effort where it actually matters, heal the damage rather than place a bandage over it. Not that the work of the Resistance isn't important, but he is but one rusted cog in a large, methodical machine.

"I have to be," he admits, partly because lying makes his mouth taste like bile, and partly because lying to _her_ in her moment of sincerity makes it taste like acid. "How else do we go on?"

But Faunia doesn't have any of that, full lips pressing in that tight line, an uncertain look on her face before she braves closer and allows the door to slide behind her. There's a fidget in her hard stance where there wasn't before, standing tall above his sitting form, but still so small under his gaze. "...I may seem tough, but I have a good shoulder."

The fact that she's nervous to be putting herself out like this is as clear as any crystal, and yet she's trying. For him. And, stars, how can he ever say no to that?

"That's kind," he repeats, and though Faunia likes to brush it off with a strange little sputter made with her mouth, he persists--if only just to see the hardened hero blush. " _You're_ kind."

"Been getting that a lot lately," she flusters, either humble or in denial, something Jaal hasn't quite figured out yet. "It isn't true."

"It really is."

" _Stop._ "

He chuckles, but scoots to the far end of his bench to offer the other half to her--well, a fraction of it, with how broad his frame is in comparison to human furniture, but with only some hesitance does she fill the space anyhow. With her so close, the moisture from her still damp hair dances against his cheek, along with the scent of cleanliness and her favored soaps. Unmistakably akin to fruit, but still foreign. Something his language does not have a word for.

Other than ' _sweet_ ', maybe.

He also feels something... _hum_ under the cool metal of her prosthetic's. He wants to compare it to bioelectricity, but it's so distinctly still and violent all at once, like the calm before a hurricane, or the rumble of an adhi before the roar--Not at all like the constant buzz that is his peers, that is his mothers.

"I really miss my family at times like these," He wishes they were here with him right now, head feeling heavy on his shoulders because it is weighty in it’s truth. He’d give anything for all terror to be put on hold so he could see them all, embrace them all, feel them breathing and alive against his chest, and console the coming unspeakable grief they will no doubt feel when this news spreads to the rest of the angara. "I have one true mother--Sahuna--and more than five additional mothers, and... _Many, many, many_ siblings and cousins. All raised together. I...wish I could be there for them, when news reaches them."

Faunia speaks little of her family, and what she does share comes off as... bitter. Her twin in the Nexus' medical wing, her father who was referred to by name while she wasn't, the military that favored them over she. Jaal wonders, does she have any fond memories of them? Does she miss them at all, like he does his own? “Are you close to your family?”

But she frowns, giving one of her stilted answers. “No.”

...He nudges her shoulder with his own, beckoning her to expand when she doesn't, and the muscle there tenses; like it did when she spoke out against the Moshae, and he grasped her arm in a show of support. Still, with only a look, she sighs with defeat. “I had one mom, Ellen, who I didn’t get along with. And one dad, Alec, who I didn’t get along with. Nothing more I can really say on it.”

"And what of your siblings?"

"It's just Freddy and me," Her voice goes quiet, the fingers of the hands she has laid on his worktable fidgeting uncertainly. "...We used to be close."

He blinks from his work to her, frowning. "But not anymore?"

"Not anymore."

What she says seems so... infinitely  _wrong_ , the rifleman has a hard time processing how he would even survive if he was in the same place. How can only but a single set of parents raise her into a grown woman, or protect and support her, or guide her when she was lost? How is it that Faunia is so sure of who she is, of how she handles things, if she's only ever been alone with three others? All of which she is _not close to_ , a mere stone sunken to the bottom of a vast ocean rather than a great wall. Jaal's a little pained at the thought that she must've been left so alone, in a set up that seems so broken and small, but most of all he's pained that she's _had_ parents--and not does.

"Are they not with you? In Heleus?”

“They’re not anywhere,” she drones, apathetic but bitter, lips pursing. “Ellen--died when I was young. Alec came up with the great idea to come to Andromeda, but he died on first touchdown, and gave me his Pathfinder title instead.”

Realization creeps up his spine, reaching his shoulders and to his hands, placing his tools down to abandon the work in front of him.

“…You’re an orphan,” It’s more of an observation than a question, one she slowly nods to, like she's reluctant to the fact itself. “A _resentful_ orphan.”

Faunia cringes and glances away at that, but nods again, and Jaal has the vague impression he caught on to something she wasn’t trying to reveal. “...I didn’t want to come here in the first place, you know. I never had the big discovery dream, or wanted Andromeda, or SAM--And now everything has just been dumped on me, and it feels...I don't know. I don't know.”

It puts into perspective why Faunia sometimes struggles to fill her role, why she cares little of the expectations thrust onto her, why every firefight uses--what did Liam call it-- _winging it_ as a weapon. It's not that she doesn't know how to fly, but she's been given control of their flight with no knowledge of what direction to go in.

She doesn’t say so, but he also learns that Ryder is alone even though she’s from the smallest family he’s ever heard of. Abandoned in a place she doesn’t want to be, in a position she didn’t ask for, left with a crumbling galaxy in her hands by parents not worthy of their respective titles, even in death. She is headstrong, and heroic, and brilliantly courageous because, like him, she has to be.

Her fearlessness is but a product of necessity, and not because she actually feels it. She must take the wheel and steer, or else plummet to the ground.

“Neither of us like where we are, it seems,” he concludes, but smiles. Even if Faunia flies blindly, she soars nonetheless, and is that not worth something? That she survives, that she succeeds? “The Initiative should be proud, though. I never really felt I had purpose before, but here I do.”

“What about the Resistance?” she asks, and the name sends a grim pang to his heart. It shouldn’t. They are his protectors just as they are all angara, their one and only rise against the kett, but--there, he is the unsuccessful Ama Darav. At least, with Faunia, he can be worthy of his family name. “My place in the Resistance is… not what I like.”

“…I can get that.” she hums in reply, quietly, so soft and sweet, and Jaal knows it’s the truth. There were once times the darkness in his shadow were heavy, days where their losses dragged against his feet like anchor's, nights where he slept soundly to the thought that _any day now it will be his last._ Even though he fights like the rest, even though he chooses to die fighting than submitting into a willful slave, it still leads to the same haunting conclusion--that he won't live to see the uprising.

It used to be relieving in some sense, because if he is to die, at least he will not have to burden himself on who he is if he is not a fighter. He know's he wants the future, for his people, for their lacking present, but where he fits in it remains far from his sights.

“But you are going to do something important, Faunia,” he confesses, because if this is to be the end of their little talks, she should know that her actions are not worthless. Sparking across battlefields, changing the tide of this war, her milky skin and rebellious youth--he believes she can rise above this strife, like she has done with her own. He only wishes he could be here to do the same. “I feel it. _This_ is where I should be.”

"...Then stay."

He could swear to his ancestor's that his heart goes still in that moment, and that he dies for half of a second. Surely, that was but a glimpse of the afterlife he experienced in that single second of death, and not something she actually asked of him. "--What?"

"I said 'then stay'. I like having you around," A bashful pause, like there’s something more but she isn’t sure she should say, before she braves the leap; so courageous in everything, she is. “Specifically you.”

His heart almost makes a hopeful leap before he snatches at it to stay in place. “Because of my… skill and knowledge?”

“…Not really.”

He has to actually _remind_ himself to breathe, the air turning to ice in his lungs as a contradicting heat blooms across his cowl. He struggles helplessly against the silent shift of atmosphere, the air settling in something so light he fears it may carry him away, the room so sweetly quiet yet drumming so loud in his ears. He's not forgotten his current travesty, but what Faunia gives him is an endearing, heart-pounding distraction; something so average yet exciting, something so painstakingly simple but adventurously new.

To allow himself to be whisked away in a life of dwelling the deep caves of Remnant, and unfurling the mysteries of his galaxy, instead of finishing one struggle for his people just for it to start anew the next day. Even when they are both directionless in a sky of unfavorable circumstances, so clouded that the future ahead of them is nowhere in sight, she wants him to take that journey. She wants him to strive for better. For _himself._ With _her._

Does he want that?

He speaks again, finding his words, if only to confirm his suspicions. “Because you enjoy spending time with me as much as I do with you.”

Her brows furrow, not in that telltale scowl she usually wears, but in confusion as if such a thing were ridiculous. “You do?”

“Yes,” His voice betrays how breathless he feels, the project in front of him long forgotten as he wills himself not to take her hand. “You’re fascinating. And special. And… _strange._ ”

It’s not the first time he’s seen her duck her head to hide her blush, tinting pink with praise, confident in criticism but shy in recognition--but she surprises him yet again with something else new, this time upon her usually scowling face instead of inside her words, all of time coming to a stop the same way his breathe does.

Her lovely smile. Lopsided, and timid, and private, as if just for him.

"I’m… really not. But--thank you.”

He’s in very deep trouble.

Because Jaal decides that his is exactly what he wants, and there is no way they’re getting him off this ship. 

* * *

 

A party awaits the Moshae when they bring her home, along with shouting that could outmatch thunder, tears of joy that could hydrate the dryest of deserts, and praise that could outwit the most doting of mothers. Even Faunia is subjected to this elated treatment, a handful of angara rushing up to her to confirm 'You're the one that saved Moshae Sjefa, right?', and bombard her with compliments until she's left stunned in silence. Some even _embrace_ her, and Jaal--too amused by how she fairs with his people to look anywhere else--finds her looking to him for help, wide-eyed and arms jutted out unnaturally as if she were handed a bomb. He laughs, offers his arms in a hugging motion, and she stiffly mimics the movement. So awkward with touch, she is, even more so than her human peers.

He wonders if there's anything he can do to reiterate that, if she'd allow him.

“Well done, Jaal,” he hears Evfra congratulate as he approaches, a hint of pride in his voice, though Jaal can hardly appreciate it when he knows it truly means _your job is done here._ “Report for reassignment.”

His eyes are drawn to Faunia yet again, and with her arms now free and stride confident as she approaches, Jaal makes resolve out of his anxiety. This is it. Taking a page out of Faunia's book, he's going to defy the Resistance, and lay his rebellion bare for everyone to judge.

“I need to stay with the Pathfinder--” “Jaal has already become a valued member of my crew--”

Their words pile on each other in a heap that’s as quick as it is urgent, the both of them vocally lunging at the Resistance leader as if he's said something so entirely ludicrous, as if he's committed a crime so scorchingly outrageous, and just as fast do they turn to each other in a moment of surprise.

 _Valued. Like having you around._ It’s impossible not to feel the swell of joy at the prospect, his initial shock blossoming into a glad, close-mouthed smile.

“Of course he has,” Evfra forces Jaal’s eyes away from the Pathfinder as he sighs, pulling a face that’s exasperated yet also… knowing, like he’s dealing with children that he knows won’t take no for an answer. “I see the benefit. Request granted.”

That was... _easy._ Not that he has any objections on the Resistance leader refusing to fight him on this.

His leader makes a jerk of his head to follow, and Jaal takes one last rushed moment to express his gratitude towards Faunia. Just one last look, just one last word, to reassure himself that fate isn’t playing a cruel joke on him and that he’ll get to follow her off this planet, into the vast unknown to discover what secrets Heleus hides. “I need to file a mission report. Don’t leave Aya without me.”

“Of course not--I mean,” He see’s her embarrassment in the way she cringes at herself, squeezing her eyelids tight, rushing to correct it, and is endeared. While angara reveal their emotions in body-language, facial expressions, and words, humans are instead open in their _biology._ To think he ever thought her emotionless, when really Faunia reveals herself in the little bob of her throat, in the crease between her brow. Small, private, unintentional ways. “Wasn’t thinking on it.”

“ _Jaal._ ” Evfra doesn’t allow him to revel in the moment too long however, and Jaal can only spare a little wave goodbye before making his way to headquarters beside his leader, matching his stride.

“So, Jaal,” Half-way to his office, the scarred man decides to make conversation. “When is it you became a deviant?”

...A-- _What?_

He’s not sure enough that he heard right to be insulted, spit catching in his wind pipe just as his feet catch over each other, leaving the rifleman a mess of deep blue flushing and sputtering. “I-I'm sorry, I don't...?”

"The alien. I started having my suspicions, but just now confirms it," Evfra reiterates, throwing him a steely glare that makes his insides near stutter and stop. Even as Jaal reels with confusion, there's a niggling of anxiety in the corner of his mind that knows what his boss speaks of, that feels caught in a _dirty act._ "You're fond of her?"

“…There’s more to it than that for wanting to stay.” he argues, albeit may be uselessly. It wasn’t a lie in any form. Jaal is… beyond unhappy in the Resistance. The thought of trading the missions along her side for a life weighed down by expectations, where his efforts are one in a million, and never enough to truly stop their suffering--it’s one of sorrow. He doesn’t want to be the unsuccessful Ama Darav yet again.

Evfra see’s through him, though. “But it is a factor?”

Shocked into silence, prickling with shame, Jaal doesn’t answer immediately. From a society tortured, enslaved, and killed by aliens for decades, and here he is fantasizing romantics about kin not his own. Flirting with half the crew, excited by their strange bodies and cultures, rather than fearing for his safety. _Stars_ , all Liam had to do was bare his chest and he had the Resistance fighter tripping over himself to rip off his armor, so ready to lay with an exotic stranger that he stripped himself of all his defenses.

And Faunia, where the questions are endless. Precious Faunia, who came in and reddened as she covered her eyes, offering decency and privacy when he had already lost it. Whose efforts are so large, even though she thinks herself so small. Whose touch is just as soft as her features. Whose apathetic voice tells lies about how full her heart truly is.

Darling Faunia. How her smile feels like the sweetest of deaths.

Perhaps he is a deviant, Jaal frowns, realizing how far his thoughts trail off.

“…I haven't considered the possibility."

Evfra doesn’t hide his disgust, clicking his tongue in an obvious show of frustration. “I sent you to gather Intel on aliens and you fall in love instead. Typical.”

In vain, he murmurs that _he isn’t in love who said anything about that_ while Evfra continues his scrutinizing. “Did it have to be the most irritating one of all? What was it, the _being on fire_ or the _sarcasm?_ ”

Perhaps he's still feeling the resolve of Faunia's influence, because Jaal can’t help but be disgruntled by his superior having grown a habit for prodding, taking a jab of his own. “Perhaps it was a little bit of _both._ ”

“You’re hopeless.“

But his rebellious streak seems to run out right then, the words echoing with pain, all too familiar. _Rebaak._ The Moshae has said the same, and anyone else who assumes the same as Evfra will likely say so too.

* * *

 

Despite all the current excitement on Aya, Jaal steals a moment of calm. The sweet, cool, real air of Aya makes him feel as if he's lived a long life of health compared to the recycled breathes of the Tempest. While he's created a much more adventurous version of home amidst the Milky Way aliens, and while the twinkling twilight outside their windows are lovely, their beauty is _different_ from that of here. With cold darkspace, bottomless void, and endless wonders, Aya is it's counterpart. Warm sunlight, solid ground among the rubble, all the _good_ that could be built in the mess of their galaxy.

Out the corner of his eye, he see's the flick of rust-red curls approaching him, his gaze being drawn from the sights ahead of him like magnetism. Faunia, with her expression blank but shoulders tauter than usual, hands trying to flatten disheveled locks, caused no doubt by many, many curious hands.

He grins knowingly. Faunia is not a peoples-person, much less a physical being, and trying to interact with the excitement of his people is likely akin to putting up with a mob of her own. "Overwhelmed?"

Though her words are still small, they are honest. "A little."

He sighs, happily tired, finally relieved. Even with the terrible dread of Exhaltation looming above them, even when one victory was claimed only for a threat triple the terror to rise, the fear of losing their most inspirational of minds has been put to rest. Something _new_ settles in to fill that space in his heart instead.

Hope that, maybe with the aid of their newfound allies, they will not die out after all.

"Take a break, and enjoy the view with me."

It's something of a fantasy being up here, among the clouds, the wind under the cape of his rofjinn as he looks upon the rolling green valley's of his favorite planet. In the distance, it is unfortunately blemished by the crackle of embers of Remnant, tainting it's floral smells with it's rising smoke, but it is one of their most diligent signs of hope. Physical proof that, before darkness came to discolor them, they once thrived so beautifully and brightly. That, under all this blight, there is still wonder.

That, with Faunia, it can be wondrous again.

"Well?" he asks, a whisper in his voice, hopeful for her approval. He's not certain if there will ever be a place that could compare to her planet, if there could ever be a way to replace what is home--he's never had to question himself on leaving his own--but he can only hope she will find solace in this place she did not want to be in. He can only try to give her something that comes close. "What do you think?"

There's a smile in her voice when she speaks, just as breath-taken as he. "It's really beautiful."

"We take turns living here. You can see why."

"You're relaxed here," The kindness doesn't leave her voice when she says so, whisper as soft and sweet as the breeze, and his gaze is drawn to her yet again to find something shy and affectionate pointed in his direction. Not at Aya, not at Andromeda, but _him._ "There's a sparkle in your eye."

She's... looking into his eyes?

"I am. Thank you," he blushes, delightfully surprised, not quite certain what he's being so gracious for. Is she--flirting? "It's... nice of you to notice."

"You're... interesting. I like to notice."

Evfra is very right. He is so very hopeless.

But, for once, he likes this sort of hopelessness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new years!!!


	8. Head in the clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaal asks for relationship advice from the two worst candidates on dating, but it gives him the courage to ask his mother instead, despite what disapproval that may confront him.

_I like to notice._

_I like to notice._

_I like to notice._

It consumes his every other thought.

Even as Peebee and Liam bicker among themselves on his couch, something or another about Remnant and biological reactions to it, he can only somewhat manage to turn their sounds into words. Instead, he is dizzy with feelings that haven't graced him since Allia, busying his mind with scenario's where those feelings are _returned._ There have been things Faunia has done before that have left him reeling, some with fear whilst others with a renewed lightness, but it's only now--at the prospect that she might like him--does he feel his heartstrings rendered powerless to her grasp.

And, oh, how she makes it dance.

"You're useless," he only half-hears Peebee, along with Liams indignant protest, the clamor of technology from one set of hands to another. "Here, Jaal, you try. See if you can activate it with your bioelectricity."

How she can paralyze him with a single look, so dark and so piercing in turn. How her long hair whispers against him as she passes, wafting with a scent so seductive it has something deep in his gut twisting.

"I'm not useless, you didn't even let me try!"

"How do you _try_ your own body temperature, smart guy?"

How the gorgeous curve of her mouth has him transfixed, her smile the sweetest of deaths.

"Hey, Jaal..."

Is her kiss as soft as her comforting touch, he wonders? As sweet as her whispers?

It's a flick to his brow ridge that yanks him from his thoughts, right where his piercings cling, tugging ever so slightly but sharply at the flesh. " _Ow!_ What? What'd I miss?"

Liam scoffs, his head in his hands, pouting at the asari on his floor. "Peebee calling me names."

"You're such a _baby_ ," she complains, contradictorily sticking her tongue at him before turning to answer. "You just made this entire thing _light up_ , and didn't notice. Then I asked you how you'd feel about a threesome between Parann, Tann, and you, and you said ' _uh huh_ ' like a big dope. What, were you sleeping?"

"I didn't hear any snoring." Liam quips, teasing, but Jaal can only ignore the ribbing in favor of blushing. Peebee has asked for his help in her secretive project, entrusting and sharing a passion of her's with him and Liam, to see if Remnant reacts to their biology and better understand these mysterious machines with the both of them. Yet, Jaal is spoiling it, wasting her time, taking advantage of her trust, by getting lost in his daydreams instead.

"I'm very sorry, Peebee," he frowns, feeling guilty. "I had promised to dedicate my focus to your pursuit for knowledge, but my mind is... elsewhere."

"Sounds dirty," But she grins, thankfully unharmed by Jaal's carelessness. "Wanna share with the class, stud?"

"If it _is_ dirty, and it's about Peebee, please don't?" Liam sniffs, interjecting with a layer of dread painting over the humor in his expression.

"Ah, not about Peebee, I'm afraid," he reassures, fiddling nervously with the device in his lap. "And not dirty, but..."

With the Milky Way being 600 years behind on evolution, he's not sure what they think of... relations of this sort, but for once Jaal feels comfort in the fact that these people are _not_ angaran. Interspecies friends, from an interspecies galaxy, who he can more freely trust with this information without the impending fear of _What of our history? What about children? How could you do this?_ Peebee has no qualms flirting with most of the ship, after all, despite the differences in their biology...

"What do you think of Faunia?"

Liam snorts a little, bemused just as he is amused. "You know that one already."

"But I mean..." He pauses, hums, considering his words carefully. To find what he does mean, he'd have to decipher his and Faunia's current relationship, and what intent it holds. He remembers the simplicity of his dalliance, if he could truly call it that, with Allia so vividly it almost burns him with it's embarrassment. Her bright yellow skin, like sunlight, dancing at every shift of color in the sky. Her low, musical laughter, at the daily compliments he gifted her. The barely contained giggling inside her whispers, amusement shimmering in her eyes like light to gems.

The sweet press of her lips, coy, and sensual, and _not long enough._

Her apology when her eyes were drawn to someone else. _I'm sorry, Jaal. I was just having fun. It's comforting to be desired._

After that, he was good at being so; _comforting_. Weeping, traumatized soldiers needing his tongue to wash away the burdens. Mourning, maddened widows needing him to mimic the touch of their dead lovers. Among all the chaos shaking them, sometimes sex worked as stillness.

Is that all it is? For once, is he the one that wants comfort?

Could he say he wants romance?

He stayed aboard this ship, after all, so could he? Confess to himself that he's so interested in something so committed, so long-term, so... _together?_

He shakes himself from his revere. It'll all swim the same way to the outsiders of his mind anyway, from whether they find her physically attractive to if they'd bring her home to family. The only thing he's truly distinguished is... How did Evfra say it?

"What do you think of her in terms of... being fond?"

"Of _Faunia?_ " Liam balks, as if he still hasn't heard quite right, the dread in his expression since tripling from before. "Uh... yeah, sure, she's cute. I guess. Why? She didn't, uh... _say_ anything, did she?"

The concern in his friends voice is enough evidence to show it's perhaps useless to ask, the idea of Faunia as a subject of desire obviously an unattractive one to Liam. No, their bond may be too close to home, strong and trusting but that's exactly why it is not wanting; the crew of the Tempest is all the family Liam has left, and he does not want that destroyed over fleeting feelings and petty break ups. Wind leaves him in a gentle sigh, Jaal shaking his head, reassuring his friend. "No. No, she didn't say anything. Forgive me, I'm thinking in hypothetical's."

"What about you, Jaal?" Peebee chimes in, batting her eyelashes coyly, seeming to catch on where Liam does not. Where most fall behind in their obliviousness, he can always rely on Peebee to not only keep up, but to be rushing ahead with quicker wit. "What do _you_ think of Faunia? You know, ' _in terms of being fond_ '."

Both their stares fall to him then, and sheepishness traps his tongue and quirks his lips in a thin, guilty smile. So untalented with deceiving, he is, just as he is with most useful things. He is a man of many hobbies, but a master to nothing, especially in the class of espionage.

Jaal thinks he could live with that among present company, however. These aliens are his friends, and if Liam can defend the strange and Peebee can reclaim said title so proudly, then what does he have to be ashamed of?

He confesses aloud for the first time, feeling more at ease. "I think she's darling."

The archaeologist gasps dramatically, a hand laying dainty over where her heart lay, feigning hurt as Liam seems to get stuck in a looping ' _ooo_ ' noise. "Why, Jaal, are you saying you've been using me for sketches this _entire time?_ "

"I'm afraid so," he plays along, chuckle rumbling gently from his belly, getting a distinct _rebaak_ of home. "You are a beauty all your own, but another has captured my heart."

"Eh, you wouldn't have been able to tie me down anyway. I'm a free bird," she shrugs, just as easily throwing away her injury as she faked it, grinning again. "So? What're you going to do about it?"

"About what?"

"Your crush, _dummy._ "

 _Crush?_ Confusion settles over the amusement suddenly, his gaze shifting to the piece of tech in his hands, which is obviously still in one piece. He turns it in his palms carefully, examining. "I've crushed something?"

"You're so _unhelpful,_ " Liam scoffs, taking the worry of Peebee's belongings from his grip and into his own, where the asari in question all but suddenly _flails_ for it. Not to Liam's care, as he mischievously holds it from her reach, face just as friendly and smile just as warm. "A crush is something us Milky Way-er's call when we like someone 'fondly' like that."

"Oh. Ah, well..." Allia, Avela, all his past ' _crushes_ ' that went wrong come to mind. In those that reciprocate his flirting, Jaal knows well he's gifted in the ways of _friendly_ seduction, but when he feels more so he can only theorize that he goes tongue-tied. "I've had no plan as of yet. I'm not even certain she feels the same."

"You could just--" Finally snatching her device back into her company, she holds it protectively to her chest, humming. "Just come on to her in the showers. Easiest way to get into a ladies pants is when they're already off. Trust me, I should know."

A cringe escapes him before he can stop it. Faunia's beautiful, no doubt, but the thought of sexualizing her natural form simply for trying to complete a chore of every day life... How very Milky Way. "I'm--not quite that bold, thank you."

"Faunia jumps through hoops to get some privacy in the showers, anyway," Liam hums, finger running against the stubble of his chin in thought. "How about a movie? You don't even have to _talk_ on those kind of dates."

Fiery emerald rolls inside the dark plum of Peebee's eyelids. "You just want to have one of your movie nights. This is about _Jaal_."

"Not here! God know what'll happen with _your_ big mouth in the room. I meant at a theater--" The former HUSTL agent stops short, though, agitations halting in favor of finally addressing him. "Wait. Do angara have movie theaters?"

"We do not," Jaal confirms pointedly, a little disappointed that Liam has forgotten so easily. While the many bricks of the Tempest have made a sturdy wall with him, while he knows the terror of this war runs them ragged with anger, he fears they sometimes don't feel the weight of the kett like he does. Despite it being their strife now as well, how could they, when they have not lived with it as long as he? When they have not felt the hopelessness of plans that have never succeeded? When they have tasted peace and normalcy, and are so used to it, unlike he? "The threat of alien domination does not do wonders for the acting industry."

With each suggestion, Jaal's chest slowly sinks with the dread that this is useless. Liam offers that Jaal give her flowers, oblivious to the prospect that even if they weren't so likely to be poisonous to her, that gifting her with something _sliced up_ and _dying_ makes him want to shrivel up himself. Peebee is no better, proposal's ranging from utterly ludicrous--picnicking inside a monolith whilst the 'excitement' of Remnant gunfire chases them about--to far too sensual far too soon.

He cannot claim humans are high-maintenance, but it dredges up dark thoughts that whisper inferiority. A soldier like himself cannot dote on her the way she deserves like her past lovers could, the protective ropes of muscle evolution has gifted him cannot catch her eye like a human could, a tongue-tied nobody in the likeness of powerful, world-healing, Faunia--The thought is--It's just--

"She doesn't care for niceties," he interrupts, voice going soft with solemn. He's only ever respected Faunia's inability to care what others think, to free her mind of expectation and worry and reputation where he could not, but in this case it is a blessing and a curse. It only makes sense that she does not care what _he_ thinks, either. "She won't be afraid to call me out on any idiocy, if she truly thought so."

"Aww, Jaal," But, with the brow of her paint curving sympathetically as the green of her eyes swims with cool concern instead of fire, Peebee coo's something that makes his doubt instantly perk. "It's different with you. She's nicer to you than me, and we're like, _girlfriends._ "

"--She is?"

Liam replies as well, as casual as one pleases. "She thinks your eyes are dreamy."

His heart leaps all the way to his throat, leaving Jaal near choking with reminders of sparkle in your eye. "She _does?_ "

"She's said some things," he snickers, leaving Jaal momentarily blind with his pearly amusement. "I didn't really think anything of it either, but now that you've said something... Maybe she's making goo-goo eyes?"

With a rising choir in his chest, he remembers her nervous valiance, and the reddened cheeks that accompany it. With the edge of eagerness striking to his very limbs, he recalls her smile that's rarer than any gem, and twice as pretty. With her request for him to stay, he's reminded of the promise he made to himself to reach new horizon's, despite the path for him being foggy. Maybe he's misunderstood their feelings. Maybe she will reject him in the end, with but a disgusted curl of her upper lip.

But all the _what if's, might be's, maybe's_ in the world could race through his mind, and none of them will tell him what lies ahead of him like _trying_ will.

His Milky Way friends, while he appreciates their kind listening and even kinder effort, could not help him in this case. Fortunately, one of the many privileges of having a family as large as a small village is having a mother to run to, and Jaal jumps to his feet with renew excitement. "I have some messages to send."

* * *

 

 

> _To: Sahuna Ama Darav_
> 
> _From: Jaal Ama Darav_
> 
> _Mother,_
> 
> _No doubt you've heard news of the Moshae being safe and the kett left compromised. I apologize for not emailing you sooner; I am...still reeling from my feelings on the event, and have since been occupied both my duties and said emotions._

His fingers pause over the keys, considering before he admits the next move, Evfra's words stinging in his head. _A deviant._

It's not something one really wants a mother to know, but Jaal has never been quiet with his affections, and one way or another his family will find out. Best to hear it from him, and have it be dealt with, rather than have them make their own conclusions.

 

 

> _Which leads me to what I'm about to ask next. I fear I've been compromised as well, so to speak, by a human woman I've grown closer with since this mission. The Pathfinder, of all people. She's shared some of herself with me, and has lend me her shoulder in this difficult time, and more and more I've found myself being drawn to her. What was once alien and strange, I look to now, and see beauty and strength._
> 
> _I pray I do not shame you with this confession, as I need your guidance on this one. Not as a soldier, but as your loving son._
> 
> _Stay strong and clear,_
> 
> _Jaal_

He clicks send, watches the loading marker spin, only to disappear entirely in success.

Now to stew in anxiety, for who knows how many hours, until he gets a reply.

Despite his shortcomings, has his family been patient, have his mothers been encouraging, and worst of all have they been _hopeful_ for him. Constantly does he disappoint their bottomless hearts, the sun going down to call to end another wasteful day where he's accomplished nothing, and work their hopes up again as it rises. They can only tell him that it doesn't matter, that they do not have children to keep them as trophies, that they do not love based on what is accomplished, but at the same time they cannot hide the pride and celebration in their voices every time another child is rewarded as someone of honor and talent.

Is it now that he will finally shame them? With the most valued part of all angara, his feelings? Dishonor their sacrifices, their loss, against aliens by being infatuated with one?

Anxiousness violently swirls his thoughts, blurring the corners of his vision, trembling the floor beneath his feet--He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing deep just to remind himself he's not drowning in anything but his own intangible feelings. Inhale, _one, two, three, four,_ hold, _one, two, three,_ exhale, _one, two, three, four,_ inhale...

No. No, he'll distract himself from the noise in his mind, and make progress out of his rampaging thoughts. The Milky Way has been putting effort in coexisting with his people, reaching out for alliances, coming together hand-in-hand despite this war, all thanks to the Tempest crew. They deserve something for their efforts.

More than he can give, more than he's ever had, but perhaps his efforts will ring out just as kindly as Liam and Peebee's did today.

* * *

It's a complete mess of knick-knack's, he's well-aware, but it's with everything he has and he hopes that somehow resonates. Peebee is wonderfully easy to pin down with what she'd like--pieces of angara tech she can strike a hammer with and reinvent as she pleases--as is Liam, and Drack. He thinks he can conjure up a wonderful tea for Suvi, with some ingredient testing. Dr. T'perro finds passion in her professionalism, so perhaps she might like some literature on angara, as self-centered as that seems.

Vetra has him reeling, as most of her interests seem to involve varying _illegal matters_ , and he's not certain how to wrap that up and present it. Instead, he falls back to poetry.

 _In the calmness of her voice, she is a mother among new orphans,_  
_In the glint of her eyes, she is a sister in arms,_

 _In the smile of her_... Jowls? He's still not certain what the appendages decorating Vetra's jaw are called. Without giving away the surprise, perhaps he can ask Dr. T'perro for assistance in biological labeling. Though, now that he reads through this poem, he wonders if he should scrap it and start over, as the concept seems a little overused--And ' _calmness_ ' has a foolishness to it, he should know better--

"Hey, Jaal?"

If he hadn't suddenly forgotten how to use his fingers, tablets and tools fumbling from them and clattering a riot against the steely floors, he'd wonder how a voice so sweet and quiet can make him jump out of his skin. Faunia has a remarkable way of being utterly attractive whilst being _painstakingly jarring_ , leaving him tumbling in feelings that contradict themselves, like _desire_ and _fear_.

Like she can read his thoughts, she apologizes. "Didn't mean to scare you."

" _What?_ Uh," His words trip over his own tongue just as nosily as he hears her metal feet pad behind him, rushing to cover his gifts with his many sketches, for reasons he hasn't decided. "I'm--I'm not _scared._ D-Did you need something?"

"Uh, just," He looks over his shoulder at her upon her approaching voice, still on his knee's, and feels vaguely like he's watching a goddess above him yet again fidget. "Just wanted to talk."

"...About anything important?"

"No. Just talk," she murmurs, thumb smoothing over her own knuckles, a gentle gesture for hands so roughed with violence. "If--that's okay. You do look busy."

As his pulse skips in rhythm, Jaal wonders, what was it that ever had him so worried? This is Faunia, with loud opinions, but quiet vulnerabilities. Faunia, who is hardened in battle, but gentle-hearted. Faunia, who is angry and powerful, but not unkind, not unwilling to be honest.

A dear friend, just like the rest, despite the fact that he wants to be--something else along with it. His feelings are only ever safe in her comet-shooting hands.

"Ah, no, please stay. Actually," he can't help but smile, turning back to his hidden presents and finding the confidence to uncover them again, for her viewing. "I'd like your advice on something."

The Pathfinder moves to sit beside him as he slides his sketches away, closer inspecting his work, and instantly does he feel comfortable in her presence. "You were right that I'm busy. My mind can be occupied with whatever I'm working on, rather than worrying, so I'm making gifts for everyone. I have a list."

"Gifts?" she asks.

"Do turians like poetry? For Vetra, I'm writing a poem and engraving it on..." He trails off as he hands her the work he has so far on his datapad, still undecided, as he was having a hard enough time trying to find words on paper rather than any other object. "Uh, well, I-I'm not sure yet."

Anticipation settles nervously in the pit of his stomach as the biotic carefully stews over his written words, following her eyes through each sentence, and all their mistakes. It'd be better in the long-run if she spoke her uncensored thoughts, but still silently chastising himself over ' _calmness_ ', he tries to bite down any humble excuses building in his throat like bile. And fails miserably.

"I-It's still a rough draft..."

"It's really good," she says, though, and he's left flushing in his pride as her eyes swim through it once more. She likes it--perhaps he can make one for her as well? "I think Vetra will like it, though, uh--You might want to translate it into a turian language."

His eyes going wide on his face, he leans over her shoulder as if to confirm that he _did_ just hand her a page entirely consisting of Shelesh, and cannot help but to bark with laughter. So many conversations does he hold with the Tempest crew, with little to no error, he sometimes forgets that they're all collectively _speaking_ and _hearing_ different languages. He imagines, one day, if all the translators were to break, what would they all sound like to him; if alien languages sound out the same syllables and vowels as his does, or if it would simply be incomprehensible noise. "Were you actually able to read any of it, or were you hoping to flatter me?"

She has enough confidence against the accusation that she finds it within herself to sound a little cheeky. "I got help from SAM, but I _do_ pay attention to those lessons you put on the bulletin."

...He pauses at that, remembering that Faunia is a linguist, and suddenly he's rather _sensitive_ to the warmth radiating from her skin and the inviting smell welcoming his nose. He'd initially been inspired by the biotic to write those, not just in hopes that she would take interest, but to further drive the point that the angara are a people with a _culture and language_. That, in deciding that the angara are not worthy allies but pests in their way of open land, they'd be _destroying_ something. That thought is so far gone, yet Faunia is--he didn't think she actually _would_ \--but she's learning Shelesh?

"Hm. Okay," he nods, resting his weight back on his knee's and willing himself not to grin too wide. A question for another time. His next gift, he has nothing to show her as of yet, but still he can share his intentions. "Liam seems to like my rofjinn. I might sew him one."

"Oh," Her eyes finally meet his, softly quirking in the same way the corner of her lips do in _that smile_ , never failing to make his breathe feel carbonated and heart feel like it's grown wings. "He'll love it. No doubt."

How did he used to act, before his newfound feelings? Had he always gotten lost in his revere? Had he always had to reel in his escaping breathes, trying so hard not to all-out _swoon_ his reply? "Great! Good. Ah, do krogan like knives? I could craft a ceremonial angaran dagger for Drack."

"Hm... Full honesty?"

At that, his smile _does_ broaden. As if he'd want anything else from her. "Please."

"Give him one he can actually use," she says. "He's sent me emails before with nothing but pictures of guns. The guy likes his weapons."

Finally, his smile reaches peak delight, showing teeth as Faunia makes him chuckle. Jaal doesn't know what it means to be normal, to live a regular life, with basic education and a job that doesn't require him to kill. He doesn't know what it means to simply live, when he's only ever survived. But... The Pathfinder, even though she's strange among her own, even though she has physical evidence that she's as irregular as he, gives him glimpses of a life he's never seen.

She makes things simple.

Yet, despite her being the key to all of the Tempest's efforts, she has yet to be gifted.

"Would... _you_ like one?"

Elbow to knee, fist to cheek, Faunia analyzes him with those piercing eyes, and--while he's still curious about her scrutiny--no longer does he feel chilled by the icy blue of her right or find the void of her left gut-wrenching. "You know, don't think I've forgotten how you said you do this instead of worrying. This is a lot of work, Jaal. What's really going on?"

Now, where he was once intimidated by her unabashed glare, he finds _comfort_ in the way she sometimes looks through him. Protected in the angry crease of her brow, bated in the joy that reaches her lower-lids, eased in the tenderness that greets him now.

"...I'm sure that I seem confident and skilled to you. But I'm _not._ Or, I don't feel like I am," he submits to confession, sighing. "My family is well known. Our lineage is respected, and many of my kin have achieved great things."

Such bitterness _poisons_ him. He was born into a talented family with so many siblings and cousins and parents to be proud of, and offered automatic respect by sheer association, and yet... With each reward brought home, with every innocent chatter that moves into ' _did you hear what your family did?_ ', he thinks only of _himself._ Keeping a checklist in his heart of all the things he's been beaten at before he even tries, feeling futile and small as his siblings grow, asking himself _why isn't he better than he is now?_

"I've never been one of them," he finalizes, feeling farther from his kin than he really is. "So many older siblings and cousins, who succeed at everything--I stopped trying to... keep up."

But Faunia somehow manages to knock him out, with only softness. "Well, _I_ think you're great."

He's left stunned yet again, because her gentle eyes, those simple words, _his soaring soul._ How can she even be real, when she has him so helpless with just five words?

His blush starts at his spine and slithers all the way to his forehead, and Jaal is left stumbling clumsily through his flattery, stupidly chuckling like it's an immature _joke._ Surely, it must be. "That's--so..."

"It's true," she persists, and she gestures to the gifts in front of them, stubborn to back up her point. "The art, the poetry, the weapons. It looks like you can do literally _anything_ , just because you feel like it. If nobody recognizes that, then they aren't worth impressing."

Again, so simple, as if he has all the time in the world and little is of consequence. He envies how easy it is for her, to shake the weight of caring so much, _too_ much. But he's lost in the way she encourages him to follow in her stride, because Ancestors and Stars, everything in his veins sings _yes, anywhere, anywhere._

And Jaal's not certain what to do with _that_ thought, something so committed, so long-term, so _together_.

His skin feeling on fire, he half-believes she's burned the color from his person, having to clear his throat so he can learn to breath once more. "You're--making me blush."

"About time I got you back." she says easily, playfully blameful, and if Jaal's cowl could burn any brighter he's certain he'd be a living flame.

"Thank you for listening," he finally says, before the threat of combustion stalks a little too close. "I-I should get back to my work."

She does not stray from his side, however, giving a pause before making a request. "Can I help? I feel like I owe them."

"How do you mean?"

"...Everything that's been done would've been a lot much harder without them. Including just--coming here," she explains, and again does her thumb ride through the hills of her armored knuckles. "I know this is _your_ gift and--if you don't want me involved, that's fine. But I'd like to show my gratitude too."

Faunia feels the family that has grown here, as well, and perhaps to her it is much, much more important. To someone that was once friendless and estranged, to someone that did not want to come to this galaxy, to someone that's been orphaned of a family that wasn't close in the first place, it means much more that she's found such things here. Where there was once a lone pebble in a pond, a wall begins to form, small, and disorganized with different colors and sizes, but the telling's of something new.

This can be home for her, after all.

How could he ever refuse her of that?

* * *

 

The work goes by much quicker with a helping hand, his poetry being translated into Vetra's language with the aid of Faunia's AI--he's learned that she, herself, knows some things called _French, English, Spanish_ , an asari language known as _High Thessian_ , and some krogan--and already has he begun sewing Liam's rofjinn. Softly yellow in color, not too assaulting on the eyes, but reminiscent of his sunny smile nonetheless.

In the middle of their work, his omni-tool pings brightly with a new message.

 

 

> _To: Jaal Ama Darav_
> 
> _From: Sahuna Ama Darav_

A lump forms in his throat, having forgotten this incoming reply, but still he clicks the message open.

 

 

> _My favorite son,_
> 
> _Is this the same Pathfinder that took down the kett camp with only her bare hands? You seemed rather chilled then, but now you sound so very awed._
> 
> _I know sometimes you feel inadequate, and that you do not do this family proud, but I've said so before and I will continue to say so. Never in a million life times can I ever be ashamed of you, much less your romantic endeavors. In everything you do, I find pride and joy. You are an exceptionally talented marksman, a man with an unquenchable desire for education in a life where there is none, the savior of our revered Moshae and guide to alien life, but most of all you are my son. It makes me ever so happy that you've found someone that makes your heart sing, and that you will be the first to break boundaries for angara every where, and the first to gift us with an alien daughter._
> 
> _Now, speaking of alien daughter; Is she cute? Do you have pictures? I suggest you find out human marriage rituals immediately._
> 
> _I love you so very much,_
> 
> _Your favorite mother._

...Again, what had he ever been so worried about? How could he doubt his mothers love, when her words have only ever been warm, and her care know's no end?

"What's that smile for?" Faunia's voice breaks through his relief, the woman it belongs to lounging on her stomach as she browses through state-of-the-arc tools Gil may like, and his grin remains ever joyful. _Gift us with an alien daughter._ They may not ever get there, but nonetheless, the thought leaves his bioelectricity thrumming like new life has been breathed into him.

"My mother. She is... endearing, is all." he says, voice soft, before typing his reply.

 

 

> _To: Sahuna Ama Darav_
> 
> _From: Jaal Ama Darav_
> 
> _My loving mother,_
> 
> _Thank you. This day was one full of worry for things that haven't happened yet, but you've put my heart at ease that there is no reason to doubt._
> 
> _She is the very one. You should have seen her during the Moshae's rescue--the raw power she exibits is both gut-wrenching and remarkable. It used to make me wary, but now I feel as though our people could never be safer. That I could never be safer, in the very same hands I've seen take down entire Fiends. Would you believe me if I said that, right now, she is helping me make gifts for the rest of the crew?_
> 
> _I do not have pictures, but trust me when I say she is stunning. She has the longest hair of any human I've ever seen, she goes pink in the cheeks when she blushes, and has a smile that's more powerful than any abilities she could shake the kett with._
> 
> _Marriage may be a little too soon. I don't even know if she feels the same. I'd like to treat her to a date first, at the very least. I'm not certain where to start, however, as our life holds only so much entertainment._
> 
> _Thank you for every thing you've ever done for this family,_
> 
> _Jaal_

As his message sends, however, he gets another just on the heels of the press of his digit. Seeing it read  _From: Sahuna Ama Darav_ yet again, he hums aloud at the oddity of it all, flicking it open.

 

 

> _To: Jaal Ama Darav_
> 
> _From: Sahuna Ama Darav_
> 
> _My favorite son,_
> 
> _Daarya has just informed me that Thaldyr sent a brief distress signal to us. I'm not sure due to what as the message ended as soon as it began--perhaps she simply sent one by mistake--but I'd like you to ask the Pathfinder if there's any time you can check up on her. I know you are no doubt busy, but being out of the Resistance allows you more flexibility on where to go; the rest of us could put our missions at risk if we take the time to do other things, even if they are important to us._
> 
> _Please consider it,_
> 
> _Sahuna Ama Darav_

...That's a cause for some worry. Thaldyr was once a close friend of the family, soon to officially _be_ family with the relationship with one of his sisters. She used to destroy the kett with the sheer thought of love blossoming in her chest, impatient with easy excitement, wanting nothing more than to give marriage back to her people--back to herself--so she can sing her devotions to his dear sister and join their families.

But, alas, the kett crushed that dream into nothing when they were both taken. Akksul had saved Thaldyr, and with Thaldyr's life going on while his sister's diminished, her heart strayed to a family of _vile hate_ for all things different. She had distanced herself in that time, despite being their neighbor, closing off anything that wasn't the comfort of the Roekarr's aggression.

Which meant that it wasn't like her to send distress signals to his family. Something awful must've happened, for her to cry for help in front of anyone other than her poisonous protectors.

She is still a sister to _him,_ however.

Faunia interjects his thoughts, her attentions having paused from her search, in favor of addressing his expression. "Bad news?"

"An... old friend of my family, on Havarl, may be in trouble," he answers, jaw feeling tight on his face. Even so, he was hoping to keep his Milky Way friends away from the Roekarr issue for as long as he could manage, expecting they'd be dismissed now as they were in the past. Since their arrival, however, they've grown tenfold--and it's dawning on Jaal that the two groups will inevitably collide. "She's affiliated with a group I would have liked for you to avoid. The Roekarr, an alien hate group. For _all_ aliens."

Faunia rises into a sitting position instead, her brow hardening, but even that ever so slight change in expression has Jaal feeling a pang of guilt. He probably should have said something regardless, but between adjusting to being based on an alien ship and the discovery that their enemy is recruiting their dead, Akksul and his petty ways has truthfully been the last thing he's thinking about. "Why is this the first time I'm hearing about this?"

"They've simply not been relevant, in the grand scheme of things. We didn't give them much thought, but... since your people arrived, the cause has grown."

The biotic ever confrontational, still presses. "You make it sound like you have personal experience with them."

"I know their leader. Akksul. We studied together under the Moshae," he huffs, frowning, _bitter._ Even before his torture, he was always an unnecessarily cruel and harassing man, the most out of anyone to criticize him for his short-comings. Whenever someone reassured him that he was well-liked, respected, and worthy, Akksul was there to rip it from under him. The Moshae saw him as incredibly intelligent, exceptionally talented--and he was. "But, unlike me, he was a good student. The best, actually."

But she failed to see that being smart didn't stop him from being but a _bully._

"Couldn't of been that great. He dropped out to be a bigot."

Only so much has truly changed. He's still cruel, still petty, still thinks he can resolve matters by making someone the villain in his story.

Only now it's just... tragic.

"It's... a long story."

"I have time."

He spares a moment to breathe in his complicated feelings. "Akksul was captured by the kett. He spent a year in a forced labor camp before he managed to escape."

"...Oh," she flusters almost instantly, suddenly avoiding his eye, as if what she's previously said has been negated. She's not wrong, though. He _did_ leave a life of education and guaranteed success, in favor of _vomiting slurs_ for a living. "That explains it, then."

"Yes. He... suffered greatly," He sighs, wishing he could find it within himself to feel for him the way his former teacher does, the way Faunia now does in the small tremble of her voice, but he remembers feeling regret over their sour relationship when he first heard of Akksul's capture--and how _wasted_ that same regret felt, when Akksul joyously escaped, and promptly used his miraculous survival to be _toxic and vile._ It was a repulsive thought, Jaal had quickly decided straight after thinking it; that there are some people not worth his sorrow, that even being tied to the same oppression cannot make their bond better, but it's hard to truly feel remorse when Akksul murders the innocent to indulge his own paranoia. "When Akksul returned, he no longer cared about the Remnant. Or _anything_ , except destroying the kett."

Stars knows he wants to, but he just _can't._ He can't validate his thirst for multicolored blood just because he's _traumatized_ by the _same things everyone else is._

"Why not join the Resistance?"

"Akksul's not the type to follow orders," he answers, trying to keep back old grudges he should've long since released. "And... I think he was bitter we weren't able to rescue him."

"So he formed the Roekarr," she concludes. "Shit."

Now, to get to Thaldyr, they will no doubt have to go through them. "Yes. Shit."

Faunia steals a long moment for her thoughts, leaving him behind in the silence as she obviously considers something.

"I convinced Evfra I'm not a threat," she says finally, words more hopeful than the voice carrying them. "Maybe I can reach out to Akksul."

He has to try hard not to show his surprise. Even the ever scowling Pathfinder is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, despite what foul things he spews, about _her_ and _her people_. While she had to prove herself trustworthy to the angara as a whole, in order to gain their cooperation and share their land, with Akksul she would only be working to gain _nothing_.

It's not like her, the ever impatient Pathfinder, willing to take nonsense from _nobody_ and _spitting_ in the face of death. Did she not just tell him that, if one does not recognize progress in the name of good-heartedness, they aren't worth impressing? What is it that makes this different, that makes Faunia give exceptions?

"I admire your courage. But Akksul is dangerous, and he lacks Evfra's pragnatism," he tries to convince. "He'll make you _want_ to kill him."

He should know by now, though. She is stubborn to succeed. "I have to try. I have to prove myself. Pretty words are only going to get me so far."

"I..." He can't say that treating the Roekarr like a true, relevant threat is a thought he enjoys, but he supposes they are to Faunia. Their trivial ways, their meaningless propaganda, their unhelpful help to their own people, while it does nothing to Jaal, is all a warning sign for their Milky Way allies to go back to a galaxy that they physically cannot. It's easy for him to tell her to simply ignore it, but how dishonest is it, to wish that she can find home in his birthplace whilst it tells her _she is not welcome?_ "If Heleus is to be your home, I guess you'll have to deal with the Roekarr one way or another. All the more reason to see Thaldyr."

Faunia nods, and begins to send notice to the Tempest pilots to set a nav point for Havarl, while Jaal looks to his messages again for one final reply.

 

 

> _To: Jaal Ama Darav_
> 
> _From: Sahuna Ama Darav_
> 
> _My favorite son,_
> 
> _If your Pathfinder accepts, why don't you show her the sights of Havarl in the mean time? I know the wild life of it is trying, but there is no view more romantic than your home. Please be sure to take pictures._
> 
> _Stay strong and clear,_
> 
> _Your True Mother._

His mind is drawn to the Forge, a place of deep history and science, where the sky turns pink as the sun touches the hills and valleys of it's soil. Jaal thinks, yes, there's nothing more romantic.

That will be his gift to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for posting this so late in the day! i was having trouble with this chapter, but still managed to get it done on time.
> 
> i never really understood why jaal and ryder start talking about the roekarr after their chat with evfra, as if he brought it up, because he doesn't mention them? maybe some dialogue that got cut? i also got vibes that thaldyr and jaal personally knew each other, not because he held her hand as she died, but because he knows her by name, address, and affiliation despite her being a roekarr. so i took a lot of liberties with the canon divergence with this one to fill some gaps, i hope it worked out smoothly!


	9. Hold both your hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Roekarr prove to be more dangerous than Jaal initially thought, Akksul successfully getting in the way of Jaal's attempts to woo the subject of his interests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for this chapter: Suicide

Faunia's stride goes wider at the sight of blue blood, reaching for her medi-gel, but Thaldyr gasps her protest. " _Don't touch me!_ "

"You need medical attention." she warns, as if the other doesn't know.

"It's too late for that," she tries to scoff, but already is she heaving one breathe after another, clinging desperately for the strength to sound confident--and Jaal realizes that, despite the bodies of kett and Roekarr outside her door, Thaldyr's danger is only her own hands. "I made sure of it."

The stained _firaan_ falls from her trembling fist, clattering wetly against the floor, and Jaal's heart sinks with it.

"Your wounds... They're self-inflicted?" he asks, already knowing but truly he means _why? When I've lived next to you all this time, why didn't I know?_ That she left the kett, only for the horror's of it all to make her want to die. That she felt her instability so inescapable, that she could snuff out her instinctive will to survive, ignore the _very real_ fear of what lies beyond death, and commit to the act without fail.

"The kett. I can't go back. _I won't--_ " she grits out, before flinching at her own bodies struggle to survive, her pain finally catching her voice and turning the sentence into a groan. Like she's only just now realizing that she's dying, her pride is instantly forgotten as she instinctively reaches for a hand, and Jaal comes to her call. He came to rescue her from whatever panicked her, but now, he can only offer her solace as her end stalks near.

"Hush now, sister," he whispers, enveloping her hand in both of his, offering the warmth her own is starting to lose. "The kett are dead. They can't take you. _We_ won't let them."

She puts all the power she has left to manage a weak smile, staying glued to his eyes for just one last conversation, one last physicality, one last tender moment. "You sound like him. So confident. So sure..."

It's a horrible waste, for some of her final words to be of the glory of Akksul, and the promises he didn't keep.

"He saved me. Gave me a chance to live... and _die_ on my own terms."

He doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve _her_ , or anyone he's recruited.

"We need to find him, Thaldyr." So he can make him pay. So Akksul can know the consequences of manipulating passionate, trusting, _dying_ hearts in the name of his own hatred. So he can tell him that Thaldyr was worth more than a _million_ of him.

But he watches as the efforts of her smile drain, the light dimming from her eyes as her tormented, tormented soul begins to slip away. He squeezes her hand when she tries to do so to his, in one last breathe of comfort, sending reassurance from his field to her's that _he is here. He is here._

Until he feels nothing back, Thaldyr going silent beneath his touch.

A shuddering sigh, as light as the first wind of a thunderstorm, rocks his core. It's not the first he's felt loss. It won't be the last, even if-- _when_ the kett are gone. "Isharay, brave one. May you reunite with my sister in your next life, and live the lives you both deserve."

He gently settles her cooling hand against her own stilled chest, and looks to Faunia, who gives but a conflicted look. He has to hope, with the Initiative, with _her_ , there's a limit to how much the kett take. He has to hope that the Roekarr, his sisters and brothers despite it all, will see that the only loss they'll have to fear in the future is the one of aging from fulfilling lives.

"The only other person who could reach him is the Moshae," he says, unable to contain his exasperation as he groans his frustrations. What a _mess_ things have become. "I was hoping to keep her out of this. She's always had a blind spot when it comes to Akksul."

Faunia remains deathly silent with a statuesque stillness, her only confirmation that she's even heard him being a single stiff nod. He does not blame her for her lack of reaction, knowing Faunia has experience with death, both witnessing it and causing it. Even if he wanted to hang it over her, he'd have to hold himself accountable as well, for he has little tears to shed.

As sorrowful as it makes him, she is gone, moving on to a new face and a new name--and he will have to move on too, without her.

"Come on," he says, sick with the air of this place, and the thought of Thaldyr's hateful protector. "Let's go."

* * *

 

Jaal still somehow manages to be miserable on Aya, at a bar, a lone man sitting in silence among a sea of laughter and chatter. In his defense, he's not there to drink, but because the Pathfinder was making her way to her meeting and commanded him to simply ' _Wait here_ '.

Then corrected to a stuttering _'I mean, do whatever you want. You don't have to--Nevermind. I'll be right back.'_ , and that's when he just _had_ to listen and obey.

It's fine, waiting here for her return with a cup of something cold in his palm, but he wishes desperately to hear whatever's said in that room. Or rather, to punch Akksul's teeth out so he _never_ has to hear whatever Akksul is saying in _any_ room, to cease the spreading virus of his hatred, to tell him their people's lives aren't worth his self-righteous shit-talking as he shakes him.

He wonders if he, Thaldyr's precious protector, entrusted with her fragile soul, even knows she's _dead._

He'd like to think it's bravery better worn on Faunia, but she is being the Pathfinder right now, making alliances instead. He has empathy for all the withering looks he's seen drift across her face, putting justice and common sense aside, in the name of impressing those that do not deserve it. Only thing is that this is all _her_ , having volunteered to cooperate with Roekarr where the Nexus does not.

He's not left to stew in that thought for much longer, however, hearing the Moshae's doors open and Akksul's anger ring out in the distance. His gaze turns to watch a flash of orange stomp past the doors, his eyes flickering across the crowd, over him, just to double take back--their gazes snapping together like positive magnets to a negatives.

He hasn't actually... _looked_ at Akksul, in person, in so long. His initial indigo color has no doubt grayed with trauma, almost completely monochrome, as if he's aged a hundred years in just that one and is a shy away of being a corpse. He has orange markings now, circling his forehead in a mutinous halo, and dripping down his cheeks in lava-hot raging tears. What's most strange, though, is that the armor of his chest fits a little crooked, as if the cartilage there isn't quite supporting it.

Even from this distance, he sees the scars peeping out from his collar, explaining it away in ways that strike Jaal with sickness. It's impossible to truly know without seeing Akksul in something more loose-fitted, but the sight alone tells cautionary whispers of the kett trying to pry the bone from there.

He could almost argue that it isn't him, but Akksul's initially shocked expression turns into a familiar scowl. Still cruel, still petty, still thinks he can resolve matters by making someone the villain in his story.

Still _Akksul_ , he thinks as he scowls back, grip tightening around the mug of his drink. The exit of blue and rust-red is enough to make Akksul continue his quick trudge, escaping her confrontation, but Jaal finds his field _prickling_ at just the sight of his long-lost rival's return. He see's Faunia's intent to chase after him before she's even completed her next step, but the Moshae's hand halts her mid-stride anyway, gently turning Faunia's frustrations to her and calming it with wisdom he cannot hear.

It's good to see they've mended their wounds at least somewhat, Faunia's narrow shoulders slumping, even though she lets her arm hang limply in the Moshae's hand instead of holding her back.

Sjefa's eyes flicker to him for a moment, as if sensing his gaze, and she gestures to him with a nod of her decorated head. He feels no shame, no embarrassment, when it prompts Faunia to catch him in his staring, smiling out and abandoning his drink to offer a wave. She gives a bashful grin in turn, waving back.

He watches as they have another short dispute he cannot hear. Something the Moshae says, another thing Faunia mumbles, which leads the revered teacher into silence. Her brow ridge raises, her mouth quirks up the side, playfully surprised in a rare show of fun in the wise shaman. Whatever she replies with, it's enough for Faunia's flustering to be seen from even here, quickly rushing away from his former teacher to join him instead.

Yes. Good to see they've mended their wounds.

"So?" he prompts when the small biotic finally slides into the seat next to his. "How'd things go with Akksul?"

The Pathfinder murmurs intelligibly at first, cradling her skull, in a way Jaal only recognizes as nursing a budding migraine. "He was mad. Didn't want to talk about jack shit. Vaguely threatened me."

That warrants another protective prickle from his field, pins and needles against his own skin. " _Threatened_ you?"

" _Vaguely_ ," she corrects, no doubt trying to be comforting, though it doesn't give him much ease. Akksul is a madman, but it could not be said that he was not driven. "He said we're 'like the kett, but less cautious'. I didn't really know what that meant, and he said 'I'd know soon enough'. Then, I didn't know what _that_ meant."

He hums in thought, cycling through his mind all the information that's been collected on the Roekarr over his years at the Resistance; their accomplishments, their patterns, their methods, what they are and aren't willing to do. But only finds conclusions that Akksul's become ridiculously cryptic, like a conspiring legend, scarcely seen yet somehow always there.

"I, unfortunetly, cannot offer you answers," he apologizes, catching her thumbing an area around her brow, massaging in little methodical motions. His palm finds the curve of his drink again, and he pushes it towards her. "I can offer you some slight reprieve, though, if you'd like."

The Pathfinder perks at the offer, smoothing her hands down her curls and resting them at her shoulders. Peering over the mug, she checks its contents, no doubt assessing if it's pleasing to her eye before it'd be pleasing to her taste buds. Which is _cute_ , he thinks, Faunia unconcerned in the face of death but her eye so wary to a _liquid_ in a cup.

Though, not unfounded. He's not certain if she even partakes in such drinks, or if she'd like the taste, or if it's intended effects would cancel out under her biology, but the forefront of such thoughts is always _it could make her ill._ "I beg of you to scan it before drinking any, though. It's _tavum_. It's--not a drink on it's own, but it's similar to your tea's in that you have to mix it in something else."

Digital text of orange apparate across her left arm, forming her omni-tool to scan the drink, but her eye's are on him as it loads it's results. The Pathfinder role must have fallen through as soon as she left the Moshae's doors, because as SAM produces results for a beverage, Faunia is caught in that linguist mind. "And what's that mean? _Tavum_?"

Which he's entirely fine with indulging, lips breaking out into a soft smile. "Not really anything. It's the name of an intoxicant."

"And _tavetann_?" she asks, her eyes flickering upwards, to the building itself. "Is that just a name too?"

"At this bar, it is, but that one has a bit of a double-meaning..." he hums, tapping his fingers against the cool desk of the bar, wanting to be careful with his words so he is careful with his teachings. "It's sort of a... feeling. When you use it towards a person, it means a deep friend, a trusted comrade. When you use it in terms of a place, it means you think of that place as akin to home. It's... It's a sense of _safety_ , I'd like to think."

She must produce good results, because she picks up the mug--as well as she can, with fingers so much smaller than an angara's--and takes a testing sip of it, before nodding. Whether it's at it's taste or in understanding, Jaal is not so sure, but he is hopeful for either. Whatever things that can make this home for her, no matter how small, no matter how trivial, Jaal will find it for her.

"You know, there isn't a lot of text for helping non-natives learn Shelesh, just yet," she begins, rim of her mug still close to her lips as she speaks into her drink, as if she hasn't yet decided if she wants to swallow down her words before they've formed. He watches as her tongue does the job for her, trying to retreat down her throat, request tangling messily with silent shyness. "I was wondering if, uh--if you would..."

The anticipation is a little too much, though, Jaal accepting before she even asks. "I'd love to teach you Shelesh."

Yet again, does Faunia put a smile on his face, and makes it grow wider and wider with each thing she says.

* * *

 

" _Jarevaob Imasaf_ means 'the Masaf Shell Galaxy'."

" _Jaaaa--er--vaob Imasaf_ ," she repeats slowly, a little clumsily, the words not quite fitting inside her accent. "And what's the Masaf Shell Galaxy?"

"It's what we call your's. _Meelky_ Way is a little hard on our tongue, as most human words are," he says, smiling at the irony, as _her_ words don't quite fit inside _his_ accent either. "Now say _jave jarevaon_."

She pronounces a little harshly, the Shelesh on her tongue sounding as if it's being dragged behind her, limp in defiance, and Jaal has to try hard not to laugh. " _Jave jay-er--vown._ "

He saves himself from chuckling by, instead, correcting. " _Jave jarevaon_."

" _Jave jar--oh--vown._ "

"You have your jaw set far too tight," Better with instructing with his hands, Jaal takes it upon himself to reach over and cup her jaw. Thumb and forefinger press lightly to nudge away the clench of teeth, and heat dances across the pads of his fingers as her cheeks submit to the pressure, puckering her lips just so. "Does this hurt?"

Her eyes drop to see what little she can of his hand before back to his eyes. "No."

"Good. Now try saying _jave jarevaon._ "

" _Jave jare--ev--von._ "

"Better, but roll your tongue more. _Jarrrevaon._ "

He can't help but be drawn to her lips as they sound out in thoughtful little 'o' shapes, as if pressing soft kisses to the words themselves, and revel in the teasing vibration her throat makes against the heel of his hand. She mimics the drawn out, rolled _R_ he demonstrated, looking him--as if bravely--in the eye as she mocks his teachings. " _Jave jarrrevaon._ "

He feels a little naked with that look, with those words, _our galaxy_. He spares a nervous chuckle, indulging himself. "That's right. _Jave jarevaon._ "

" _Jave javerrre--jave jarrre--_ " But the soft purse of her lips breaks into a poorly hidden smile, the words tumbling through sweet, melodious laughter that brings an outright curl to his toes and a flutter to his chest. Her mouth is so, so tempting.

And he wants so badly to kiss her.

Do humans know what it means to kiss, he only just now wonders? How miraculous would it be if such an act were somehow universal, tying them together and transcending entire centuries and galaxies, just so they can indulge in something so trivial with each other. To have his mouth move against her own, until neither of them know any language at all.

But, for now, he will just have to settle for using what little language is shared between them to say it instead.

"You have the most gorgeous lips I've ever seen."

Her laughter is reeled in quickly just then, in a small inhale, and only silence follows as his hand settles back onto the counter. Rendered speechless, startled like a wary animal, she openly balks at him through her flusteration. Perhaps--he said too much too soon?

"I--" she huffs an uneasy laugh, not really making any sound or smiling at all, and suddenly her eyes are to the contents of her drink as if she's invested on finding something inside. "I don't even know what to say to that."

He smiles around his hum, feigning thought. "Try saying, ' _Javer, pasevera elaan taosh shena, thesavaar._ '"

"What does that mean?"

"It means 'yes, I _do_ have a lovely mouth, _thank_ you'."

He swells with pride as he gets her to chuckle once more, basking in the gleeful arch of her eyes, and the gentle shake of her shoulders. But, still, she denies. "I thought you didn't like people lying to you."

Denies a lot, she does, Jaal not oblivious to the pattern. At first, he thought it humbleness, considerate that Faunia is but a young, untrained, directionless girl stuck with the role of Pathfinder--but she even rejects the rewards of being called _kind_ , called _beautiful_ , as if her actions are somehow otherwise. As if she's done nothing to deserve it.

Or as if she simply doesn't believe it.

"You don't... It _seems_ as if you don't think very well of yourself ," he gently prompts, careful to prod at wounds that may be too sore for her to even think about baring. "Am I wrong? To assume such?"

She's silent for longer than he's comfortable with, longer than it should take to rebuff that claim, when the answer should be--the answer he hopes for--' _of course you're wrong_ '. For once, he'd much rather be called an idiot, by her, than for any of that to be true.

"It's just--none of it is _true._ I'm not..." Her finger smooths lazily over the rim of the mug she's still staring into, and Faunia chuckles airily again, but this time with a sour note of sorrow that doesn't deserve to accompany her features. "Why do I tell you these things?"

There's a pang of hurt he feels by that, but quickly, he tries to smother it; this isn't about him. "Why should you not?"

"I'm usually better at, you know, keeping my private issues private, is all. But, with you, I just..." She shrugs easily, though there's no sense of happiness, of safety, in her comfort, as much as it's like she's given up something. "I don't know. I blather."

He used to think her emotionless, uncaring, reserved--even Liam himself has said that she has never been very 'chatty'--but with what he knows of her now, it's a wonder why. She has such a brilliant mind, with such large thoughts, and such loud courage. To think that she's so used to being silenced, that she does not feel she _should_ share her thoughts, that telling him about herself is _too much information_ for him...

"I trust you with my private issues. I feel my emotions are... With everything we've been through, I feel you are my _tavetaan_ ," he says, resisting yet again the urge to take her hand, but still he can't help but inch his fingers toward her. Bridging the gap. Hopelessly hopeful. "You speak so much of proving yourself--perhaps, you feel you want to repay that trust? Now that I've been vulnerable with you, you feel you can be vulnerable with me?"

She grows quiet again, but her eyes speak louder than any choir when they rise to meet his, something _awed_ and _sad_ and _special_ swimming in them. She has no field, yet it's like she reaches for him, quiet as sweet nothings but thrumming as strong as thunder; so much like the hum of her biotics. Perhaps it's his own field, perhaps he's getting caught up in his own romantics, but she looks at him with such trust and vulnerability now that he could weep, and he inches his hand closer to her--

Someone beats him to the punch, clasping his wrist, and soon he finds Faunia's small fist smashed between the counter and his palm. Peebee pops between them, grinning with wild glee at him while doing some strange dance with the brows of her face paint, before a hiccup bounces her entire frame. Even with just that slight parting of her purple lips, he smells the alcohol of _tavum_ on her breathe, and realizes quickly she's inebriated. Impaired. _Out of her mind._

His own wide eyes flickering to their joined hands, still forced together by Peebee's digits handcuffed around their wrists. Faunia's eyes, on him, and just as wild. Back to their hands, and--before anyone can dare to comment on it, Faunia's arm _swings_ , taking him with her and effectively _smacking_ the asari straight in her flat nose with his own knuckles. The punch having no real power or ire behind it, it no doubt doesn't do any damage, but still Peebee yelps in offense and lurches back to hold her face.

She slurs behind her hands, staring daggers not at him, but Faunia. "I'm trying to help--"

" _Peebee!_ " the Pathfinder barks, tinting pink as she threatens to lung at the adventurer, and--just as fast as she came--the asari speeds away with a frightened, _giggling_ squeal. It warrants a few stares, and fewer murmurs, seeing this grown alien woman act that of a child.

Faunia's free hand smacks against her forehead and trudges down the expanse of her features, trying to wipe the blush and the exasperation from her face. "God, just _look_ at her. We're going to get thrown in jail before sundown."

He hasn't release her hand.

She's... so small, so delicate, her fist only just filling his very palm. Yet there's such prowess these hands hold, such blood and battle that has stained them, and still he holds her as if they weren't such--because just because they've already experienced cruelty, doesn't mean more cruelty should be done upon them, he thinks as he follows the curve of her armored knuckles with a frailty he'd use on silk.

It's that that draws her notice, her free hand falling from her face and eyes lighting up from their tired state. He starts to lean in, not with any intent, but to be close, to relent to her reach, to touch in spirit just as they do in body.

" _Ryder--_ "

Suvi interjects over their communication channel, effectively making the biotic's skeleton jump from her skin and regretfully startle her hand from his, as if the navigator were physically here and Faunia was afraid of getting caught with him. Her hands hold no body heat to begin with, but still she leaves a sense of frigid ice in his palm, already missing the contact. If there was one thing wrong with being surrounded by aliens, it's that he hasn't been touched quite as often, quite as long, quite as close, as he used to living with his own kin.

However, he's comforted by the fact that Faunia sighs at her own flinching and pinches the bridge of her broad nose, frustrated and tired. It's... been a long day for her.

" _We just received an emergency recording from Eos,_ " And it's yet to end, the both of them soon sharing their stunned eyes at the tone of urgency in Suvi's voice. Eos. Where their first true outpost lies. "Come to the meeting room when you get back to the Tempest."

A familiar thought envelopes Jaal's mind, _this doesn't bode well_ , and if there were ever a deity he could pray to he'd ask that this day doesn't end how yesterday's did; in the suicide of another loved one.

* * *

It... seems quiet enough, when they've landed.

Their Bradley--who Liam calls 'Augie' rather affectionately--says otherwise over their communication channel. " _Sorry to keep you in the dark, Pathfinder. But there are eyes on this planet._ "

"We didn't see much traffic from orbit." she says, confused, but not doubting.

" _It's there. But hopefully you can get ahead of this before it turns into something bad._ "

There's no 'hopefully' about it, with Faunia. She can and will, Jaal knows it.

He can't say he's incredibly in love with Eos, what with it's winds unfurling it's very own sand, plastering itself against his skin and making him _itch_. That isn't even getting into it's deadly, irradiated, heat, and infestation of kett pursuing knowledge with guns. It's all been somewhat tamed, no doubt as a result of Faunia workings at it's vault, but before her? Before even him? The angara had already long since abandoned the planet, unable and unwilling to put up with it's temperatures drying out their skin, weather destroying their living spaces, and radiation and kett killing their defenseless.

When the Nexus only pursued it due to lack of options, it's truly a wonder why anyone would want to attack Prodromos, and claim this barren wasteland for their keeping.

But then Bradley plays an audio recording with the distinct double-vocals he knows so well in his own people, and it makes more sense.

"What am I hearing, Bradley?"

"Here's my worry; maybe the raids were just a decoy, so someone could do a slow tactical buildup in the Blackrock."

Faunia shows her skepticism just then, frowning. "Tactical? You mean _military?_ "

"No," he interjects, dread in his heart. "That was an angaran voice. He means Roekarr."

"An attack on our first outpost? Can you imagine how the Nexus would react?" Bradley says, but the sympathetic frown he gives to Jaal tells him it's not accusatory, not blaming, but the reason why he kept this so discreet in the first place--he's helping.

They don't want Eos. They want to stir up the humans living on it, want to sabotage their alliance, want to make a _reason_ for more war where there is none.

"Exactly what Akksul wants."

That conniving, bitter, _traitor_. To think that he'd ruin everything Andromeda and the Milky Way have built together--Willingly frame his own people, turning these miraculous allies the galaxy has gifted them into their enemies, and pile on the angara's own collective strife--

For what? To falsify the proof of his agenda? He claims to love his people more than anyone, yet he'd so easily throw away their values, and give the aliens reason to slaughter them?

"We'll put a stop to whatever this is." Faunia gives voice when his is too caught up in his rage, promising safety before setting out.

From past missions they've crossed paths in, back when he was still with the Resistance, he recognizes the Roekarr beacon's call. Rippling throughout the air like a digital wave, leaving a slight ringing to his ears, it leads them to a Roekarr infested camp on top of their Blackwatch.

As deluded as they may be, he never wants to kill his own people, but they leave him little choice when they shoot _bullets_ just as fast as they do _slurs._ With the sun blazing down on his brow, and the metal of his gun threatening to burn through his gloves, his shots weave through the brutality Faunia imposes and strikes down those who dare try to sneak a kill. It's a quick fight, nothing but a single squad protecting their own tech and other's scrap.

But a single squad is all it takes to call on an army.

What truly lies at the camp is not simply a collection of scrap and computers, but a signal to birth signals, a homing beacon straight to the demise of Prodromos.

Akksul wouldn't have just attacked their outpost to frame his people--he'd _succeed_ in doing it. He'd kill their allies, and then kill his own people with the oncoming ire, like a hurricane looking to swallow everything in it's path.

"Augie, Blackwatch was a Roekarr scout with a homing beacon." Liam reports, quick on his feet.

" _Shit_ ," he curses over the communication channel, but sounds otherwise pleased. " _Glad you put an end to that._ "

But Faunia doesn't complete missions half-way, doesn't quit when someone says the job is done, doesn't dismiss herself until the conflict is resolved. "I'm not walking away. This is _my_ house."

They plot among themselves, reminiscing outposts he's never seen, sharing names he doesn't know the meaning of-- _'Promise and Resilience'_ \--talking of homes he doesn't belong in. For but a split second, Jaal fears Akksul's sabotage has already worked in some way, that just the offense of _trying_ has planted a seed of doubt in the fresh garden of their alliance. But then, he remembers Liam's friendship, and Bradley's kind discretion.

He remembers how Faunia accidentally trusts him by sharing things she doesn't plan to, looking into his eyes and reaching out for him, as if she can't help it.

"What are you planning?" he asks her.

"They want a target," She looks up at him, and her eyes read _steel_ , but not against him. Instead, _with_ him, as her comrade, as her _tavetann._ " _I'll give them a target._ "

* * *

 

" _Starting Roekarr signal upload._ "

Faunia's confirmed nod signals their hands to get comfortable at the triggers of their rifles, and they move to take position.

" _The Roekarr have altered course._ "

Faunia and Liam pressing against his broader back, covering his blind spots, he breaths slow, steady, calm, _ready._ Silence shifts with the sand dancing through the winds, no movement except the clouds above them panning through the aqua sky. The whistling winds drift into an incoming space craft, and like a racing manta, they grow closer. Jaal plants his feet wider, firmer, against the steely roof and raises his rifle to take aim. The aircraft hovers to a stop, gears shifting to open it's door's, and Jaal wait's patiently for the right moment in _3..._

Another breathe, _2..._

The heads of the coming, armed Roekarr are revealed, and within that last second he fires, lurching through their skulls and having them fall limp mid-jump.

As Faunia and Liam break from him to take on those who have hit solid ground, Jaal stays in position, aiming and shooting through the auburn leaves of Eos' trees, picking away at those too distracted by the explosives and biotics of his teammates. They come in droves, larger and well-equipped and intending to _murder_ where their last scouts were not, but they are no match for the three of them.

Until a Hydra comes crashing down from one of their ships.

Quick as thought itself, it turns by it's waist and shoots a missile directly at him--He uselessly rears back, feet stumbling--A flash of blue--

The impact of the rocket against whatever shield Faunia manages has her shooting into him, knocking him from the roof of the lab and sending them both blasting into the water, skipping across it like stones as his world blurs into nothing but _color_ and _wetness_ and vague _gunfire_. He's not certain when they've stopped moving, or if either of them are even injured, only able to register sky and the sudden lack of air in his chest for a thorough minute. Once he feels his _rofjinn_ clinging to his armor, he realizes they've stilled, but Faunia is nowhere on his person.

She took the blow for him.

Snapping up, he gives himself vertigo twisting and turning to find her, to make sure she's alive and safe and didn't just _kill herself_ for him.

And when he does, it's with disheveled hair, darkening in wet clumps. An angry growl accompanying her gritted, grinding teeth. Her eyes creased with anger and incoming death.

As she blips in and out of his sight, charging ahead with an enraged cry at the mechanical beast, Jaal thinks she must be the loveliest being he's ever met.

She soon rips through the machine just as he's seen her do with more worthy foes, time and time again, and it's with little effort that the rest lie dead with but stains in the sand to serve their memory. Akksul runs instead of facing them, giving a threat instead of mourning the tens of people that died to his cause, a student once so smart learning _nothing_. " _I'll remember this. We're not finished._ "

" _You are today,_ " Honorable Bradley braves telling him off. " _And we'll be ready next time._ "

How many 'next times' will it take? How many will he teach the things he's taught Thaldyr? That it's better to be _dead_ than be kidnapped a million times over and still fight, that their people should live in fear and suspicion until they've stabbed themselves with their own weapons, that their people are all but _animals_ at the bottom of the food chain.

He hears a distant, pained whine from his right, and Jaal's entire body tenses with the instinct to fight again. Quickly, he raises he scope to his eye, pointing to it's source.

There, he finds the familiar red-orange shade of Roekarr armor, but fitted to a body... _shorter_. Smaller. Hiding behind his cover, too wounded to stand, completely defenseless. He drops his aim, huffing, and goes to investigate his foolish brother. Holstering his rifle once he reaches the steps of the platform and into the man's view, he seems to recognize him, however.

"Jaal Ama Darav? You--You-- _You--_ " he asks beneath his faceless mask, and though he does not know the voice, he does the youth behind it. He can't be more than a teenager, just barely having reached his adulthood, if even that. "After _everything_ we've been through, and you'd align yourself with these _vesagara!_ "

Jaal has no anger to give him, only able to manage a sneer at the ugly word.

"I looked up to you! I--I..." his voice cracks, and the boy grips his thigh in pain, groaning. Azure trickles lightly between his digits, not bleeding out, but no doubt having stricken a vital tendon. "Are you going to kill me now? Kill your own brother?"

"No," Jaal answers, kneeling beside him and swatting away his hand, in favor of applying the medi-gel the Tempest granted him upon his arrival. It's no ion bed, but it should hold him over until he can get himself off planet, and into a medical center. "You're going to live. Then, you're going to go home, and tell your mothers and fathers where you've been and what you've been doing."

"I-I'm protecting them--"

"By dying out in the middle of nowhere? By leaving them home, forever to wonder why you left? Where you went? If you're alive?" he chastises in a harsh growl, giving the other a hard stare. Foolish. _Disgraceful._ How did Akksul even connect with this young man, and convince him that disregarding his family so is the equivalent to protecting them? How could he take advantage of the young and naive like this? "Will dying by your own people's hands save them from the kett?"

"They're _not_ our people."

"They are _mine._ "

He cannot see his eyes, but he feels betrayal, the disappointment, the _disgust_ he looks at him with. Jaal Ama Darav, of noble family name, and successful lineage, naming these outsiders his own while his people suffer from the very hands of aliens.

But the skittish ache Jaal usually feels by the shadow of expectation has fizzled into nothing, the hot rush of embarrassment chilled and the headache of noisy thoughts quieted.

He doesn't _care._

"Go home," he commands of him once more, before standing. "Listen to your family instead of Akksul. Reflect on what's been done here. Help your people by letting them _be_ helped."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO just in time. i had a lot of trouble with this chapter, and it in fact was it coming out so long, i had to cut it in half and put most of it into the next one.
> 
> fun facts about this chapter:  
> -couldn't resist the tarzan reference in there.  
> -what the moshae and faunia talk about that has sjefa so tickled: it's just the "he talks in his sleep" line, except met with a "no he doesn't", since we've all heard jaal snoring in the back seat. sjefa teases tho. "OH, SO YOU WOULD KNOW THEN? I SEE. INTERESTING."  
> -trying to work up side mission battles as super threatening, especially when we've already gone through the "big bad showdowns" in previous chapters, didn't make a huge ton of sense to me. so sorry if this reads as very "point and shoot", as i was much more focused on getting the plot moving rather than hyped-up action.


	10. Touch my neck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between mourning his spoiled date and panicking over the safety of his siblings, Jaal has to fight himself to not beat Akksul into a pulp, instead killing him with kindness and gaining a new scar. Faunia is less than happy about it, however.

A message from Akksul welcomes him home.

" _Jaal Ama Darav,_ " he greets in the past, breathing toxic gas and sneering pesticide, as if Jaal were a vermin. " _You always were a short-sighted fool. Helping an_ outsider _, instead of your own people._ "

He's truly angered him this time, but the rifleman--despite all his life learning to deal with conflict, to listen to other's grievances, to be sympathetic and open-minded--cannot find a single ounce within himself to _care_. So readily will Akksul ruin things for all of society, to justify his own means, yet pouts and cries when things are ruined for him.

" _You're unfit to bear your family's name._ "

"Okay--" Faunia, more bothered than he, slaps the controls to make his visage vanish. "This guys is really starting to piss me off. What a little _bitch._ "

She punches the word out in a way he recognizes as swearing, and Jaal _chokes_ , recollecting Liam's lesson on that one. He didn't understand what Liam meant when he explained that some foul language worked better in some accents than others, but now, he believes he see's. "I would have used _vehshaanan_."

She turns to him, quizzical. "Veh-sha...?"

"'Someone pleased with his own shit'."

That alone is enough to calm the hurricane of her frustrations, her hand rising to hide her glee as if she were ashamed, but the snort she makes unmistakable. Even as he makes mental note that she finds her curses in _his_ unfamiliar accent rather amusing, she starts to apologize. "I shouldn't--I'm sorry."

"Your joy is a gift," Just as he stops the storm of her anger, he reassures away the raging tide of her doubt, smile reaching his eyes. "But don't be. We've never gotten along."

Her hand lowers, but the corners of her mouth don't, coy and playful and beautiful. "He's just jealous."

It's his turn to be quizzical, however, unable to help tilting his head. "Of what?"

"You're the better man."

He tries not to scoff at the thought, but it's so untrue. Akksul, favored by the Moshae for having a brilliant mind like no one else, clever in more than just brute force, even now proving his strength with the stubborn survival of his trauma, jealous of _him_. Certainly, it can be agreed that he misuses his talents, but that doesn't mean Jaal can do any better with what little he has.

"Well... I am better-looking," But he will relent to the kind praise, for now, at the very least. "Akksul wants us to do something reckless. Let's not give him the satisfaction."

* * *

He mentally goes over the list of gifts he must still finish on the walk to his room, wondering idly if he should go back to Faunia and ask for her assistance yet again. If he's being honest with himself, he doesn't truly _need_ it, but he'll steal away any moment he can to spend time with her. If only to hear her tired sarcasm, and revel in her wicked laugh, and warm at her stumbling shyness.

Perhaps he will need to call someone for assistance after all, because how will he get anything done anymore, with her so fresh in his thoughts?

But what he finds once the tech lab door's open for him have his thoughts straying, the desktop at his workbench blinking with an incoming call yet no telling's of how long it's been so. Once approaching, the door's automatically closing behind him to offer him privacy, he reads over it's identification. Two names, from Havarl, from home.

_His mothers_ , he smiles, pressing the key to accept their call.

"Mother Vaasaana, Mother Feladyr!" He meets the call with arms gestured wide, even though they cannot see it, but he hopes they hear it through the joy in his voice. There's been emails, a few chance occurrences where he's had the luck to run into a mother or two on Aya, but it's been far too long since he's actually spent time with them. With so much going on, he itches to be able to embrace and sit with them, and talk in ways he cannot do with Evfra or the Tempest crew. "I miss you so. How are you?"

But he's greeted back with the distinct sound of gentle sobbing, worry piercing his heart like a bullet. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

He discovers it is Vaasaana that is weeping in the background, Feladyr answering for her in a tone much calmer, but not without it's own sorrow's. " _We woke today to find Lathoul, Teviint, and Baranjj gone. They left a note, saying they were running away to the Roekarr._ "

His happiness hits the floor, and if it were not for the bench beneath him, he's certain the rest of him would go with it as his legs give out from under him. Akksul has been talking to his family.

_Akksul has been talking to his family._

_Recruiting their children._

Recollections of all the dead bodies he made drop just an hour ago flash before his eyes, dark blue blood staining Eos' sand, the young man in Roekarr armor, and Jaal worries he'll puke right there. His vision swirls, hand stumbling to take off the _overbearing streaming line of text_ that is his visor as if he's never used his fingers before, to throw it to the far side of his desk as he prays. Stars, _please_. _Please, please, please no--_

"Please tell me you know where they are." he finally finds a voice to beg, clawing at his suddenly dry throat.

" _We must've asked all the vessels here, and none have any reports on departing with younglings. Fortunately, they haven't left the planet_ ," she explains, thankfully. " _We_ have _gotten word that a couple of Ama Darav's just took bunk at the Forge. The scientists there have been sharing the space with Roekarr for quite some time, though recent news says they've coincidentally gone silent; I'm sure you can guess what's happened._ "

Trembling hands falling to his knee's to regain their strength, relief washes over him, but only for a brief moment. They've dodged his bullets, but are still not safe. "So are you on your way to retrieve them?"

" _No._   _I've tried, but Resistance orders are keeping me from so. Right now, we have an unspoken stand-still, and Evfra wants to keep it that way for as long as he can manage,_ " he hears her huff over the call, obviously resenting the leader in question. Feladyr has always been a strong, hard-working woman, with her trigger finger steady and head held high--she'd go striding in there and drag the three of them out, kicking and screaming, had it not been for her duty daring to stand between them. " _But_ you _are no longer Resistance._ "

He frowns, nose wrinkling. "You want _me_ to go in there."

He hears the door to the tech lab open, and acknowledges vaguely that Faunia enters, but cannot find it within himself to stray from the conversation to greet her. Vaasaanaa pipes up, even when her voice is raw from sadness, to plea. " _You, more than anyone, know how dangerous Akksul is!_ "

Of course he does, which is why he fears this is exactly what Akksul wants from him, to draw him into his lair and use his own siblings as shields when he faces down his anger. He's hiding again, telling self-proclaimed tales of his own bravery and controversial cunning, as he hides behind his own underlings when shots start to fly.

But, this time, shots _cannot_ start to fly. Not when his siblings are in it's fray.

It begs to be asked, Jaal unable to contain the chastising in his voice. "Why were they allowed to speak with him?"

" _They aren't children anymore. We can't control their every move,_ " Feladyr excuses. " _You remember how you were._ "

He does remember, but his rebellious youth was in the form of following his older siblings as they sneaked away into the night, to mix _tavum_ out of the house and skinny dip with friendly midnight flings. He remembers that in his streak of mischief, he got his piercings with the coaxing of inebriation and snickering brothers, and was fortunate enough to find them pleasing the next morning. His wild years were simply filled with _partying too young_ and _drunken decisions._

These three choose, in their fit of self-assured independence, to _join a hate group._

He thinks, if he did find them, he'd simply wallop them until they whined--but his mother's teary begging breaks him. "Please, _Jaal._ "

He sighs, closing his eyes to will away the oncoming headache his frustrations are threatening him with. Akksul wants a fight that can only end in blood.

But he won't give him one. He won't give him the satisfaction of drawing out his ire. He's not the better man, never in his life has he been, but he will not allow Akksul to make him the _worst._

"I'll bring them home." he promises, and with that, they give their goodbyes.

Faunia, always concerned for him, always protecting, spares no hello's before getting to the chase. "Are you okay?"

This is... embarrassing. So often has he shrugged off the Roekarr as but outlier's, paranoid fanatics with a dangerous, but cowardice leader. To him, they've been nothing but ugly nuisances, working against their people while congratulating themselves on aiding them.

Yet, his own _family_ has allied to kill her.

How will they take his feelings for her, if they cannot even believe her as his trusted ally, his dear friend?

"...Three of my brothers and sisters have joined the Roekarr," he admits, and just as soon as he does, he feels too restless to sit, pacing past her. "Akksul has _poisoned_ them with his hatred of aliens."

"And your mothers want you to bring them back?"

"Yes. The Roekarr have made camp at the Forge," The Forge. Of course the Forge, holding so much angaran history, one of the only places they could truly keep from being taken by the kett, his gift to Faunia, and Akksul has _claimed it_ as _a figure for hate._ "Many consider it the birthplace of our civilization-- _Akksul_ likely believes this _bold move_ will create more fanatics for his cause."

As bottomless as Faunia's kindness seems, he's not certain he can ask this of her. It's more than enough, to have her free his people from kett enslavement, and make leaps and bounds for their cause, turning the tide of this war in their favor. So _how?_ How is he to expect her to assist in this matter so entirely personal? How can he ask her to put her own life in danger, and walk into a camp full of _hateful bigots_ that will _shoot her on sight_ , to rescue his bratty siblings that have self-proclaimed themselves to be the same?

"Faunia..." Still, he must try, even if it sends him begging on his knee's to her. Because he can't bear to think of the alternative. "He has my _family_... But I don't think I can do this alone."

"You don't have to," But her reply is instantaneous, her gaze suddenly hardened, plucking his visor from his desk and raising it to him, in preparation for the coming fight. "Just tell me the time and place."

She doesn't even think about it.

He's rendered speechless for a moment, powerless to his fluttering heart, powerless to the broad grin it brings to his lips, powerless to the thought that _she is so very_ _here for him_. Through anything, through everything, no matter how trivial or dangerous. He puts himself to shame, doubting her so--for when she's been there for him when he is a mess of tears, risking every single one of her tomorrow's to blast through kett facilities no one has survived before, what are Roekarr? Who is Akksul, and who does he think he is seducing his family away from home, when he has the great Faunia to fight for him?

"No hesitation," he all but _swoons_ for her, unable to contain or help himself. "That is what I love about you."

The visor goes clattering to the floor with the shock that pounds through her, but he cares little, his focus only ever on the flush of her cheeks and the burst of life in her eyes. Before either of them can say anything of it, he makes move to his contacts.

There's no time to waste.

* * *

 

Where there was once the bustling crowd of curious visitors and even more curious scientists, now lies deathly silence. The _govataan_ , the Forge, the starting point of all his people, is abandoned as if they never started to begin with.

The amount of supplies, clutter, and _blood_ left in it's wake proves it was a very rushed abandonment.

Faunia investigates thoroughly, through scans of blue blood he already knows belong to his own people, and terminals that have power but run disconnected. He's lucky, to have someone unsatisfied with doing the bare minimum, who wants to know _where_ and _what_ and _why_ so she can uproot the issue from the ground up. Like an angara, wanting to deal with everything at once, so it doesn't come to haunt them again.

"Jaal," she calls for him, clicking through yet another one of the computers. "Look at this."

He comes as beckoned, peering over her shoulder and reading through the emails she has presented to him. _Priority guest. Bypassing security protocol. Mandatory meeting._

"Do you think they mean Akksul?" she asks.

"Akksul is no important figurehead to anyone, but the Roekarr themselves." he refutes, but cannot help but fear the worst. Some of these messages seem almost _possessed_ , far too eager to break protocol's that keep friends safe for the favor of a simple man, and round up peers to hear propaganda as if it were divine word.

A reoccurring name pops up, one he recognizes as a coworker of Avela, and the Curator of the _govataan_. Droka Sidyr.

Akksul's seed of doubt.

"Or the makings of one," he finalizes, frowning. Between attacking Eos in hopes of destroying the Milky Way-angaran alliance and getting in contact with all these unsuspecting people, Akksul has been... making himself busy, and that's a cause for concern. "Akksul is... very persuasive. My brothers and sister are proof of that."

Faunia banishes the thought from his head before it has chance to form, looking over her shoulder, catching his eyes. "We'll get them back."

"I hope you're right."

The trek through only reads of more dread; worrying emails and audio logs of escalating trouble, Akksul's voice brainwashing their people over the intercom, failure of discretion as Roekarr scout through the Forge as if it were in danger...

_Damage of the Forge's very architecture_ , Jaal fuming as an explosion rocks the very earth of Havarl and crumbles the bridge built there. So passionately does Akksul give practiced speeches of the 'disrespect' the Milky Way brings to their culture, the 'invading' and 'claiming' of their planets, their kindness a ruse to 'lure them in, make them feel comfortable'--yet so easily does Akksul claim the history that belongs to _all of them_ as _his_ alone, violently banning everyone else's use of it like a _child_ , feeling it his right to put together and break apart like a _plaything_.

But he must calm the raging current the Roekarr leader's storm causes in his mind. His family is here, Jaal reminds himself, and he will not start the fight that will let Akksul use them as living shields. When his mothers told him of their disappearance, he feared so much that they fell to their death by his hand--he mustn't let that fear become a reality.

The Roekarr slow them down as they must climb into the fissure, only to trek up it's other side, which is easier for _her_. Her biotics have her swim up to the top, gliding easily through the air despite it's vertical slope, shifting and bending gravity at her will, leaving Jaal to idly wonder _she can fly?_ Jaal's mind falls back to the jet pack he was given as she races ahead of him, but remembering the many times Liam has launched himself somewhere and let himself fall with a resounding _thwack_ and cackling pain, he decides against using it during an uphill climb.

At the top, he's met with her outstretched hand, and he takes it and follows it's pull.

His eye catches the dark blue of Faunia's armor shift into purple, and his gaze is drawn to the sky. The sun reaches the hills and valley's of Havarl until they are but dark silhouettes in the distance, and as if the sky can feel it's gentle touch, the color above them blushes peach before their very eyes.

"Wow." he hears the beloved woman beside him breathe, catching her attention as well.

"Do you have anything like this? From home?"

"Sunsets, sunrises. That sort of thing. But you could never _catch_  the sky changing color," she answers, voice filled with wonder, awed. Beneath that dislike for the Nexus, beneath that regret for coming 600 years out here, he thinks he see's a curious explorer mesmerized to see more. "It's beautiful."

He can't help but still feel disappointed, mourning the possible romantics that could have come, but now it is spoiled. This could've been a day of sharing knowledge, with honey-sweet laughter and beautiful wonder, battle and duties and death free from their minds for just a single moment. But then, there's his siblings foolishness, and the scientists of the Forge shifting into the Roekarr, and Akksul's ugly mind games.

"Hm. I..." he shares, feeling foolish. War is not kind enough to offer him breaks, to spare him some time for romance; it is all-consuming, greedy for his attention, and suffering, and body and soul. "Always hoped to bring you here... just not in these circumstances."

Her eyes drift to him at that, lips parting as if she were to say something, but only breathlessness falls from them. The pink reflects through the brown of her eye so wonderfully, and Jaal is mesmerized as he watches the warmth of peach dance through the darkness of her iris, clouds seeming to glow as the sky is soon wrapped in cool dark navy.

"While you were helping me with all those gifts," he says, the fingertips of his gloved hand finding the nape of her neck in feather-light touches, and she tenses but does not move away. "This was mine to you."

"...I love it," she whispers softly, the coming breeze taking her words away and hiding them in someplace only he knows, a secret just between them. "This is the best thing I've ever been given."

He almost chokes on the dropping chill of the night, flushing from head to toe at such a deep proclamation. "It's--just a view."

"I know," Her eyes quickly duck from him, suddenly defensive and embarrassed all at once, and though it's too dark to see he know's she flushes back. "But--it's important to you, to your people, and--I don't know. No one's ever..."

One would think Jaal would learn his lesson, especially when in the very center of conflict as they speak, but Faunia makes a fool of him like no other. A fool that is so wonderfully, happily, as he dares to hope again--Perhaps there are things, this day, this sight, _these feelings_ , that not even the Roekarr can taint with their touch.

Until the rattle of guns intrudes on them.

Faunia rushes into action while he is still dizzy from the whiplash of lust into survival, quick to carelessly grab at one of the many straps of his armor, and fall backwards into the cover of the Forge's stones. It's not the most graceful duck for cover, the biotic taking him with her on her descent and uncomfortably cushioning his fall with armor, leaving them both to clamor for proper positioning.

"Intruders have reached the nest!"

"I count three."

Jaal stops midway of upholstering his gun. Even though they so unfamiliarly call out battle orders, even though it makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear them speak among gunfire, he'd recognize those voices anywhere.

He catches Faunia point her pistol straight out from cover, and-- " _Wait!_ " --makes quick work of dropping his rifle to the ground to grip her arm instead, throwing her aim off just as he does her balance. "I _know_ those voices."

"Lathoul!" he hears Teviint, one of the youngest of the three, order her older brother like he was but a babe. "Call for backup!"

" _Lathoul!_ " he calls as he shoots to a stand from behind cover, hands above his head, because _no_. No, don't do that, because then he will be forced to shoot and they will _definitely_ be caught in the crossfire. "Wait! _Stop!_ "

All three of their eyes light up as they see him, thankfully too busy going slack in their surprise to consider shooting on sight or making any calls, and Baranjj--the other youngest, from the same litter as Teviint--all but buzzes with excitement. He holsters his weapon almost immediately, jumping over his cover like a rebellious teen would a fence, and Jaal cannot help but feel as if that's what he _should_ be doing in his fit of defiance. Hopping fences, sneaking _tavum_ , kidnapping some dangerous animal to bring home as a pet--not here, making their mothers cry.

Baranjj comes at him with arms outstretched as Jaal closes the distance between them, gunning to be embraced.

Jaal instead throws one punch, for defying their mothers and worrying their gentle hearts.

Another, for betraying his brothers trust and aligning himself with his bullies.

Then when Baranij moves to retaliate, he catches him in his arms then, to feel him alive and unharmed in his arms and comfort the aches of his own fears away. His brother returns it with some playful struggle, laughter shaking through his chest and echoing in Jaal's, an ecstatic grin back on his face when he pulls away.

He's a fool. He's no idea what trouble he's in.

"Baranij, our mothers sent me."

He has the gall to joke. "All of them?"

"Did our mothers send this human too?" he hears his little sister spit, venomous, passing him entirely in favor of crowding Faunia behind him.

"I'm Ryder, Pathfinder with--"

"I should _kill you right now._ "

"Okay, then." That is all she allows herself to murmur, brow trained into a hard furrow, but side-eyeing him in a plea for assistance; it's a rare moment where she cannot speak her exact thoughts, as whatever _sass_ crawls up her throat could only prove their point, and scare them back into the arms of Akksul.

"Teviint... _please_ ," he begs.

He see's her shoulders flinch in a huff, turning and shoving one of her brothers out of her way, so she can crowd Jaal instead. "Why'd they send you, hm?"

It concerns him, how much Akksul has poisoned her in so little time. Jaal's never known Teviint to disregard her family so easily, to spew such negativity, doesn't recognize when her loud-mouthed teasing morphed into such _violent racism_. It's an ugly, _ugly_ side of her, but most of all it is a side Jaal does not recognize from any of these three.

How long has Akksul been speaking to his family to have manipulated them so deeply? How sick must he be, to target the youth of his family like a predator?

"Because we've lost enough to the kett. They're afraid to lose you to this _insane_ cause."

Teviint scowls at him defiantly, but in the eyes of Baranij he see's hesitation. Shame, guilt, like he's been caught in a truth he didn't mean to tell, and Jaal clings to that for hope. "But...Jaal--"

"I want you to meet my friend. _Faunia_ ," He can't help but sigh her name, desperate for her help as he grasps her arm, trying to bring her to the front lines of his family dispute. She resists his tug though, giving him a wide-eyed look as she silently objects on interjecting, but it's his turn to give her a pleading look. "So you can see that Akksul is wrong."

Thankfully, she relents with her limb going slack in his grip, her only complaint a frown. Faunia is not a people-person, he knows, her words inciting more rage than hope because they hold a truth no one wants to hear. But now more than anything does he need her words of heroism, to show his family that she holds a nobility that the kett do not, and that she bares free equality and open knowledge at their feet where their enemies never have. "We can either fight each other until we do the ketts job for them, or we can work together against them. But we're here to stay, and I _want_ to get along. I _want_ to end this."

Jaal smiles in thanks.

His siblings, however, are not having it.

"Who asked you what _you_ wanted!?"

"Who cares!?"

"The angara don't want anything you have!"

"We don't need you!"

Just the two youngest could make up their own angry mob, each sentence hurled towards Faunia fast and fiery, dipping deeper and deeper into her personal space until she's giving him another wide-eyed glance in a silent scream for _help_. They're making her anxious. He tries to interject, tries to reel in the snapping adhi that are his siblings, but there's no quieting these two. "The both of you, _stop it_ \--"

Teviint is immediate to argue, rebellious as ever. "Jaal, our mothers want us to live truthfully!"

"It is because I love my mother that I will die for this cause!"

" _Akksul is going to blow this place up_ ," Her words have not fallen on deaf ears after all, Lathoul shoving past them to replace their proximity, grasping Faunia's shoulders with just as much fear as there is in his voice. "That's why he sent the researchers away! He has bombs--"

Teviint and Baranij argue behind him, balking with betrayal, trying to silence his tattling. " _Lathoul!_ " they chastise. " _Stop. Talking._ " they threaten, but being older than them, Lathoul has the right mind to know he doesn't have to listen, warning the two of them anyway.

"Stolen from _your_ people."

Gunfire rings out.

His stomach plummets to his feet as Lathoul does into Faunia's arms, where she struggles to catch the brunt of his bulk. All other sound around him drowns out, ears ringing with a sickening high-pitched scream that seems to go on and on and on, as he rushes to catch his brothers falling body too.

But, most of all, his eyes go so wide and dry with horror that he's not certain he'll ever be able to blink again. All life on Havarl freezes over into frigid death, his soul crumples up and withers inside his chest, and something in Jaal _dies_ when he finds his sister at the other side of the gun.

By the look in her eyes, she feels it too, jaw going as limp as the gun in her hand. She cannot find the words to even utter _what has she done_ as her hands clench her head, trying to contain her racing thoughts enough to _do something_ , but Baranjj grabs her in his own shock and fear. He tugs at her arm insistently, intending to run. Lathoul's weakening stance brings them both to their knee's, so he can rest, but even as they are above him does Jaal stare them down.

"Teviint," he says, too desperate not to beg, but also too _angry_ not to demand. " _Don't._ "

Another tug to her arm, and the both of them race away, before they've even cleared the panic from their mind to make a decision. " _\--Teviint!_ "

" _Nononono--_ the _bombs_. In the Forge," Lathoul pants, managing to get himself onto his back and rest himself against the slant of rocks, and Jaal thanks all the stars for the extra padding in Roekarr armor. With such short range, it's no doubt damaged his back somehow, but he is not hit or bleeding. "I'm _okay_ , Jaal. I'll be fine."

"' _Fine_ ' my ass," Faunia interrupts, quickly getting to work clawing at an armor piece around her shoulder blade, and only with some strife yanking out a capsule. Medi-gel. She roughly pushes at Lathoul despite his complaining, just enough to shove it in a compartment in the back of his own armor, before leaning back and poking at her omni-tool to activate it. "That should tide you over. Soon as you feel up to it, _if_ you feel up to it, book it to the entrance."

He nods, and already does Jaal see his stiff frame fall relaxed, pain easing out from him. "I _hate_ Akksul--don't let him win."

"You got it." Faunia gives a nod of her own, undeterred from the chaos of the Roekarr, the drama of his family, as she rises tall. So stubborn to snatch at success until it is her's, that she's willing to throw away one of her healing capsules, and risk the possibility of her own death in favor for security for his families own. He rises with her, and quickly do they make their way to the center of the Forge.

"I'm glad you're here."

* * *

 

"--I killed Lathoul!" she comes calling after they've deactivated all of the bombs, running to him, and Jaal finds some comfort in the action. It tells that she did _not_ warn the Roekarr of their arrival, Teviint crashing into him and bowing her head against his chest, guilty and apologetic. "I _killed_ him! I'm so _sorry!_ "

"He's not dead," he reassures lightly, but doesn't feel forgiving enough to hold her back, not quite yet. Akksul is persuasive and perverse, but she has grown enough to know the only one in control of her actions is her own self, and still she lets her own impulse put their family in danger. "You're lucky."

But she looks up at him, teary eyed, and small, and _scared_ , and Jaal's not so certain he knows that anymore. Teviints been reverted back to a small child in need of guidance, in need of rescuing and taken back home in the arms of safety, and Jaal is left to wonder what is is that Akksul _did_ to inspire such terror in his sister. "I lost my mind, Jaal. I want to go home."

Baranjj follows close behind, balking. "But--the cause. I joined because of you!"

Ah, that explains it some. Teviint has always been one of the more bullying of his siblings, strong-headed like Feladyr, except--for as long as she's been a bumbling youngling--the respectful fear for her older siblings is replaced with more cowl yanking and cursing. All Akksul had to do is settle his lies into _her_ ears, and surely, the rest would be muscled to him as bonus prizes.

He wonders if Akksul knew that. If this is even more premeditated than he suspects.

"I shot our brother!" she reasons, incredulous, and Baranjj pauses. Once again, does the hesitance and guilt find his eyes, fidgeting, unsure, like he's afraid of being _caught._

" _Don't leave me--_ "

"Let her go."

Akksul slithers from the shadows, slinking close behind, and both Teviint and Baranjj reel back in collective horror. His ever so fearless sister, stumbling to get behind him, as if her legs have grown weak. His reckless brother, freezing in his uncertainty, looking between the both of them as if he's not sure which side to run to.

"I only want soldiers who are committed to our cause," he says, and as if beckoned tens of Roekarr come into view, armed to the teeth and trained all-too-intently on them. One false move, and they'll be _ripped to pieces_ from bullets alone, the Roekarr prepared to rain _death_ from above. "Not _weaklings_ who stand by and watch the destruction of our people--at the hands of _aliens._ "

"You get all these kids worked up and afraid of getting killed by Milky Way hands," Faunia starts regardless, teeth gritted, snarling. "And then you send them out to attack us, and you do _just that_ \--get them killed by Milky Way hands. Who is this _really_ helping, Akksul?"

"I speak for our people, and I say you're _done_ in Heleus."

A swing of his arm, and Faunia draws her pistol on instinct, biotics flaring. He reaches-- "Faunia, _don't--_ "

Any fright in Akksul's eyes is short lived, wicked laughter shaking through him as he prowl towards her, undaunted, unafraid, _unchallenged_. The barrel of the pistol presses right against his neck, between his scarred cowl, as Akksul hisses at her. " _Martyr me_. Please. I dare you."

He watches helplessly as she considers it, temptations swimming through her mind that he cannot stop, but her eyes fortunately flicker to him. He shakes his head, and with only a request for unbidden trust and his eyes, he pleads for her.

Not only does she drop her aim, but she makes show of dropping her entire pistol to the ground and kicking it away, proving she does not need her weapons to make her point. Proving that, even when she is the center target of their guns, she can trust the angara more than they can trust her. Proving her actions speak louder than any sweet words or violent gunfire, she says nothing to Akksul, only staring him down with a scowl of her own.

He _sneers_ , as if he's _disappointed_ , before turning away to speak to the crowd; he does so hate to be proven wrong. "They move onto our planets. They _take_ our resources. _Make us weak._ "

Akksul looks to him at that last bit, and regardless if he's trying to use his manipulations on him or trying to insult him, Jaal feels his field bristle with pins and needles. To think that her and her people's crime is merely _existing_ on the same plane as them, feeding themselves, being normal beings just as they are. It's everything they could only ever hope aliens from another galaxy could be and more, foreigners that not only don't want to dictate over them but be their allies, and yet Akksul has twisted even that to make them sound like _bloodsuckers._

He argues in turn, defending Faunia, looking to his brothers and sisters standing above him. "I've watched Ryder make planets _habitable._ "

"Exactly! And they'll never let us forget it--"

"--She rescued our beloved Moshae."

It's something he knows even Akksul cannot argue against, because for all his bullying and torment, Jaal knows he loves her too. For all of him that has changed, for all of the friends and loved ones he's antagonized and cut from his life, it is Sjefa that remains.

"...I know." is all he says, and his uncertainty falters the guns pointed at them. Unsure glances, stolen whispers.

" _Saved. Her. Life._ "

"I _know!_ Stop defending them!"

"Our Moshae trusts Faunia, and--"

" _Stop!_ " Akksul's weaponize's his anger in the form of a gun being drawn on him, Jaal having to bite his tongue. "We've been fighting the wrong enemy. Maybe the enemy is this _traitor._ "

Blue illuminates across his face, and Jaal catches Faunia's palm raising towards him, reflecting chaotically with something he knows only follows with _death_ \-- " _Don't!_ "

The blue calms at his voice, but where he once saw confidence and reassurance in Faunia's eyes, he see's her pulled taut by a string. Regret for throwing her weapon out of reach, anxiety for his life, anger and frustration at the sudden danger he's in.

Her voice cracks under the pressure. "Jaal?"

"Trust me," he asks of her, once more. " _Please._ "

Apprehension flits across her features, and while her comet-shooting hand does not lower, she relents; it's for her own security just as much as it is his, for hope that if Akksul has a threat of his own pointed at his head, he will be less likely to shoot. "You better know what you're doing."

But he see's the look on Akksul's face. He does not fear Faunia the way Jaal once did. Does not respect her the way he _should_.

His heart drops to his stomach, the acid there burning him and stinging throughout his veins. They've always hated each other, they've always clashed in class and butted heads over anything and everything, until they were both far too _exhausted_ to deal with the other but far too _angry_ to ever stop. No wounds have ever wanted to heal, no apologies have ever been given, but still there's something about this that makes him _ache_.

Has Akksul always hated him so? For all these years, has Akksul wished only death upon him?

Jaal once thought that Akksul was always like this, and that those around him were simply too blind to see it, cruel, petty, thinking he can resolve matters by making someone the villain in his story--The only time anyone ever saw it was when they got the same treatment the rifleman did.

But now Jaal doesn't know what to think.

Now, while Jaal hates Akksul no less, he sees a man that had a talent in brilliance. That wanted to unravel the mysteries of the universe. That was starbound for only success.

Only now he's at rock bottom, thrashing in his own uncertainty and violence.

"You've become a danger to your own people," What Jaal offers is another chance, redemption from this deep hole of a mess he's created, and back into the love and listening of their society so he can reflect and heal. " _Walk away._ "

Akksul makes his choice.

"Or... I _kill you_ and reveal the Resistance for the _traitors_ they are!"

He doesn't realize the gun goes off as much as he _feels_ it, taking over all of his senses, drowning out his ears and flashing before his very eyes. In his momentary blindness, he see's the many faces of his mothers, siblings, and cousins, and all at once do their fond memories play before him. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner at crowded tables. Pranks being played both by him and on him. New babies begging for their uncles attention. He sees Allia's coy smile, feels his skipping heart as she kisses him, and watches again as she runs into the arms of his brother.

He sees Faunia, the alien, with his peoples guns trained on her. Wrecking a kett enslavement camp. Saving the Moshae. Looking as if she could freeze everyone over with her glare alone, but then there's her _warmth_. The crinkle of her eyes, her crooked smile, her musical laughter, the strength she carries in her frail shoulders.

And Jaal is content.

He doesn't hear the frightened gasps under the ring of the gun going off, doesn't see Faunia's reaction under the flash happening before his eyes, doesn't realize he's not dead under the pain of flesh sheering open in his face--doesn't realize Akksul had actually committed to _shooting at him_ and _missed_ , until he hears the bullet land somewhere behind him.

In his act to kill him, there is no applause for the ridding of a traitor, no cheers for the attempted murdering of an alien-sympathizer, but instead the echo of stunned silence to embarrass Akksul's performance. No words are shared as his brothers and sisters spectate upon them, appalled, and shamed, and _desiring to be home_ , before they begin to file out with their heads hung low.

With no one to blame, with no villain in his story but his very own self, Akksul watches on helplessly as the world he built crumples at just the pull of his trigger finger.

"The alien is not the monster here."

He only has one thing left to argue as he stands in the smoke of his put-out flames, head hanging low as well as the guilt dawns on him, the truest thing he's ever said. "...I love my people."

Jaal replies. "I know."

It's just that good intentions mean so little, when loving doesn't stop one from hurting. Faunia _hates_ her Nexus, who have dragged her from a perfectly good home against her will and given her power over their lives she does not want, spitting in her path and hurling complaints as she takes on their burdens. She owes them nothing. She does not love them.

The angara themselves have done little more than distrust her, the Roekarr murdering each other in hopes to simply defile her image, his own family somehow striving to annihilate her despite never meeting her. With them not even being her own, having no way to know their history or heartache, it'd be of little consequence to her if they truly died out.

And, yet, she helps them. Because it is right. Because it is good.

Akksul's never considered such a thing. Has never thought of anything as a _success_ if he does not personally _get something_ out of it. Has never _been kind_ even when it is _not fair_ to him or his history.

Jaal can only hope he's learned that, today.

Baranjj's hand smooths over the back of his rofjinn as the first drops of cool raindrop begin, asking permission to leave, and he sighs. "Come on, let's get you both home."

Faunia falls into stride beside him, having found her pistol and trapping it in a vice grip, as if she'll disappear should she drop it. She does not look at him, or say anything throughout their walk, treading only in silence.

Just as she does throughout the shuttle back home.

Just as she does on landing, when Teviint is still apologizing.

Just as she does when his mothers arrive to both embrace their children and scold them, hugs and smacks upside the head, voices teetering between relief and anger. He takes this moment to steal some privacy between him and the Pathfinder, gesturing off to the side and beckoning for her to follow. "Let's give them a minute."

He takes her to a railing with a view of sky so royal blue, the tree's stretch to touch it in envy, mountainous Remnant rising proudly taller still. The vibrant clouds shift gently above them, splattered across the sky like living paint, and Jaal's reminded of the doubt that was shared among the Roekarr before they left them.

"I wanted to thank you for trusting me," he says, waiting for her emotions to stop brewing, prompting for whatever she's feeling to spill. "Killing Akksul would have made the Roekarr stronger. I... appreciate that you excercised your restraint, even when you did not want to."

"You're an idiot."

And spill it does, yet he cannot help but to balk. Faunia's never insulted his intelligence so.

"What?"

"You're an _idiot,_ " she repeats, louder, scolding as she finally, _finally_ meets his eyes with a tight scowl. "He _shot_ you."

He hums quizzically, reminded of the slight sting now accompanying his cheekbone. Is that all that this is about?

"I'm glad he did--it exposed how far he'd fallen."

"And if he didn't _miss!?_ Jesus, Jaal," Arms crossing, voice pitching, Faunia huffs at him. "You could've _died_ today, do you not realize that?"

He scoffs in return, finding some room to be offended himself, because he's not certain what the _point_ is. Every day the both of them risk their lives, and yet now that he's done what she asks of him every time she takes him on a mission, she's upset over dangers that have already passed? It's not like Faunia to be caught up in hypothetical, worried about things that haven't happened, much less be _angered_ over them. "But I _didn't._ "

"Don't be _cute_ with me--You're so--" she sputters defensively, arguing before she's even sure what to say, hands fidgeting until they've clenched so tight in an attempt to calm themselves, he vaguely hears the metal of her fingers creak. "You just--You just asked me to _stand there_ and _do nothing_ while he shot you. What was I supposed to do with myself if you had died, huh?"

Oh.

He think he see's.

"You are not _actually_ mad."

She puffs up at him before defiantly turning her gaze towards nothing, her denial only confirming it. "Yeah I am."

"No, you are not," he grins softly, amused, flattered. "Your anger is bred of concern. You were _worried_ for me."

She falls silent in that moment, only the gentle sound of rain pattering against her armor stretching between them, and just as it washes away the grime of battle it does the same to his smile. He does not feel regret for tip-toeing along the thin wires of death, risking his fall when there is still so much life to climb, but he finds he's guilty of a crime far worst.

She still doesn't look to him when she so quietly speaks, but nonetheless he can see her eyes swim. "You scared me."

That crime is playing with Faunia's gentle heart.

She put her trust in him, and he's used that trust to worry her, to plant a seed of fear in her ever-brave soul. To think he has the gall to tease her for caring so much shames him more so.

His hands rise to rest against her cheeks, turning her attentions to him as softly as he can manage, and an aching shudder ripples through him as her eyes go alight and her face warms under his touch like fireworks being set off. He has played with her heart tonight, has showed her the pains and trials of feeling for another, but Faunia--ever trusting, ever there for him, Faunia--goes only slack between his cradling palms, submitting against whatever action he has to offer when he bends down.

_He is here. He is here._

"It will heal," he whispers to her as their foreheads press softly, trying to comfort away her concerns for him. "All scars do."

He watches as her eyes search through his, blinking, lost, and Jaal idly muses that she must be counting the _sparkles_ in them. Because it's no doubt there, when soon enough he feels her raise her arms as well, fingers twitching and arms trembling but still braving to cup his cowl in return. He feels as she calms and watches as her eyes flutter close, and sighing, he's content to stay like this. Her sweet breathe against his lips, her hair through his fingers, her scent surrounding him, he wants his own little pocket of eternity spent holding her in this little way.

Yes, for all that the Roekarr spoil, it's _these feelings_ that are far away from their tainted touch.

"Jaal!" he hears Vaasaana call, sing-song, thankfully much happier than when he last heard her. "Are you going to introduce us to your special friend?"

The rifleman remembers himself, pulling away just enough for his touch to fall from her face and rest upon her weary shoulders, to see his mothers behind him smiling rather widely. If Sahuna failed to mention his newfound 'crush'--which he highly, _highly_ doubts, with how loudly that woman crows--they're certainly aware of it now. It is only Teviint and Baranjj that look on apprehensively, awkward and embarrassed, _hoping_ they are wrong but _knowing_ what is true.

Which leads to Jaal deciding _no,_ he is absolutely _not_ going to introduce his special friend. Not yet. Not on the heels of her first taste of his family being _his sister shooting their brother._

But later? Later is very much still on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title hints pretty bad to what this chapter is about. now that we've gotten to the gist of jaal's loyalty missions, get ready to learn more about faunia's backstory in the next chapter!


	11. It's too cold for you here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaal feels his devotions being put to the test as he get to know Faunia in ways no one else has, but what's there to be found is a darker, uglier side of humanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for: child abuse, PTSD, mentions of human experimentation.

His gifts are inexpensive, things that he crafted merely with his hands and heart rather than something of true use, but all the money in the universe couldn't buy the smiles it brings to the crews faces.

The sunny yellow of Liam's _rofjinn_ suits his even brighter smile, punching him with his embrace and parading it proudly around his shoulders, like it's a medal of honor. He had asked Drack for permission to tinker with his shotgun, to install the _firaan_ into the handle of his gun like his own instead of give it to him as an ornament, and the result is a krogan so overjoyed it's almost cause for some concern. He cannot give Cora any of the fauna she so adores, as it is not of his world, and those that are may be toxic--so he paints her a bouquet that will last her forever, instead, which makes her trip over her own thanks.

The tea recipe he's made for Suvi brings soundless tears rolling down her cheeks, her gentle soul mourning the family she never saw die, so thankful that her little piece of home will not run out after all. But it is not Jaal who hugs her pain away, but Vetra, despite her flustering when he recited his poem to her.

"Turians aren't very big on public displays of affection." she had claimed, though it rings untrue when it comes to the dear co-pilot. It seems that he is not the only one in the midst of an interspecies dalliance, he thinks with amusement.

Speaking of which, he's not been unaware of the biotic across the room, only half-spectating as she checks their cargo in case of ration depletion. Weariness clings to her frame like a parasite, circles under her eyes darker and puffier than usual, shoulders slumped heavily instead of squared in her usual readiness--he thought the stress of Akksul would begone as soon as his threats were, but clearly the source of her issues are something else.

He looks back on their moment at the Forge with only fondness, lost in the words ' _best thing I've ever been given_ ', yet with her watching he can't help but feel a little guilty. While everyone else gets something that will last them plentiful years, if not for eternity, Faunia was given but a fleeting memory; a falling sun, who's warmth she can only keep in her pocket for so long, until it disappears from her recollection just as it did behind Havarl's mountains.

He leaves the present chattering company in favor of her's, ready to apologize, and draws her tired attentions. "Hey there."

"Hello, my special friend." he replies back easily, and it's like her mere presence, her simple greeting, puts a spell on him that makes him helpless to smile. Jaal wishes he could do the same for her.

He watches, though, as her eyes don't quite meet his. Faunia's gaze is instead given to the ripped flesh of his cheekbone, offering a complicated look, with a concerned furrow of her brow and something like shame swimming in her iris. "How's the face wound?"

At the mention of it, his fingers glance over the injury absentmindedly. It's still sore from the disinfecting it got the previous day, but already it has begun to heal over, leaving nothing but a hardened dent sculpted into the side of his face. "I think my scar will be impressive."

"A centimeter to the right and..." she murmurs, her bad habit of concern for things that haven't happened hard to break, but she tries for him and stops to _tsk_ at the thought. "Well, let's not think about it."

"Akksul was always a terrible shot," he reassures, regardless. No, his talents lied in mathematics and sciences, having traded brute force and militia training for knowledge. Until he decided, suddenly, that he wanted _differently_ \--but he doesn't want to think of Akksul right now. "But, hopefully--I will be more appealing to our female friends?"

She snorts, the corners of her mouth quirking softly, worries already soothed away. "Oh, _sure_. Look at all the dates Drack gets."

"And, are any of them with you?" he asks, teasing, leaning close. If only but to feel the warmth of her blush, and breathe her sweet scent, and feel the invisible reach between them. "Do _you_ find scars appealing?"

"Still trying to make me blush like a schoolgirl?" she accuses, brow cocked coyly, and his gentle smile widens into a grin.

"I do quite like to see you change color."

 _There_ is the reddening of her cheeks, the shy Pathfinder ducking her chin to try and keep it from his wandering eyes, just as she does with her tender smile. It's times like these that keep his chest feeling light, tingling, _wonderfully_ suffocating, like his lungs are filled with carbonated air. A moment where stress is forgotten, just a single moment, making way for only _them._ "You're too much."

Ah, but really, he could be much more.

"Lately, I've been too little," he argues guilty, wolfish grin gone sheepish. "I'm sorry I've not gifted you anything, like the rest of the crew."

There's a pause in the slip of her smile, brows furrowing quizzically as her eyes flicker to the crew, talking among themselves and showing off their new shiny items. "But you did."

"I know, but, I'm beginning to think I should've given you something more... physical?"

"' _Physical_ ,'" she repeats like there's more meaning to the word than there truly is, her attentions going back to him, and Jaal feels caught in something he's not even instigated. "Is that what you want?"

It's his turn to blush, trying and failing to swallow the sudden lump that keeps him from breathing, because he thinks there's an innuendo somewhere in that question. It's the _genuity_ of it that kills him, that leaves his gaze caged against her's, as if she truly wants to know, as if she's daring him to answer.

As if she's _inviting_ whatever that answer is.

He coughs. "I--uh..."

"Sorry," she apologizes just then, casually, freeing him from her hardy eyes as she looks back to her list of rations. "I'm tired. Talking nonsense."

 _He's imagining things_ , he decides, such lust having no place in the midst of their conversation. Really, it's so rude of him, for his eyes to be straying wildly as her's stay still against his own, for Jaal to be drooling over made-up propositions like an _adhi in heat_ as she tries to make conversation like _a regular person_. He should respect the breathe she wastes on his unlistening ears far, far more. "Do you, uh--Do you wish to talk about it?"

"Huh? Oh, uh--No," she refuses, shaking her head. Faunia speaks more words, expresses more emotions, is progressively more open vocally and physically as he gets to know her, but some things are still hard to see through her protective shell. "It's just--a lot of things, piling on. Don't worry about it."

He frowns, concerned despite her wishes for him not to be; he cannot help how he feels, after all. "Perhaps some shore leave is overdue?"

"Yeah, and then while I'm out partying, people are dying," she reasons, hands clutching her datapad a little too tightly, bitter and anxious as she gives him but a dejected look. "Nexus would have my head."

" _Hmph_ , the Nexus," he huffs, rolling his eyes more at the thought than at her. "Surely, you have done enough for both our people."

"Alec always said enough isn't good enough--" she starts to dismiss, but he doesn't miss that she strangely enough stops herself short, the delicate flesh of her collar bone bunching and releasing. A haunted look takes her face, eyes flitting off to nowhere, before she begins to walk away with a rushed dismissal. "Like I said, don't worry about it. I'll see you later, okay?"

Jaal's still not used to what private creatures humans are, and he's not sure if he ever will be, but he won't force his company onto Faunia. Despite his worrying heart, despite his gut telling him to follow, Faunia has asked something of him and he will relent. "...Okay."

* * *

 

Not even sleep can protect him from Exaltation.

The Tempest grants the comfort of small numbers. No kett to target their ship, no sudden emergency to ring him, no siblings or cousins to race to just about everything. Not long after the crew earned his trust and companionship, Jaal caught up on weeks of sleep, snoring soundly. But, now, his dreams are haunted.

Some start just as violently as they end, drowning in the bodies of angara turned monsters, tearing him limb from limb, crackling with darkness and crying in agony-- _why did you kill me, how could you kill me_ \--until he awakes drenched in sweat and gasping for air like he’s just escaped for his life. Other’s try to trick him, sweet visions of his family all together in outing, their voices luring him in deeper until he’s struggling to escape their twisting bodies and scraping claws, begging for mercy as he guns his own yowling mothers down.

As his _firaan_ finds his long-lost, now kett, fathers throat.

After many failed attempts at sleep, he leaves his room in defeat. If only he can get a glass of water to quench his constricting throat, then maybe he can pass the hours of the night in some other way. Improving rifle modifications, or creating another list of gifts, or taking a part his entire visor just to put it back together again. Something other than terrorizing himself with bad dreams.

When he reaches the kitchen, he halts at the sound of muttering, his tired mind fearing that perhaps he’s still dreaming and these are the whispers of oncoming horror. But upon peeking through the doorway, he finds the back of his precious Faunia, perched cross-legged upon the kitchen table as she speaks to thin air.

Though he can’t hear her words he can read her tone as short, and tired, and biting, as if someone continues to pester her when she argues for privacy. Probably SAM, Jaal realizes, though it doesn’t explain why she’s up so late.

Or the bottle hanging from her loose fist.

“ _Shut up, SAM._ ” He registers the snarl before he does the words inside it, and before he can think further on it the sound of shattering glass is making him flinch and the smell of alcohol is assaulting his nostrils, Faunia having _thrown_ the bottle against the wall. Jaal gets the vague sense he’s intruding on an animals den, poking at an aggravated beast, staring wide eyed as he debates if this is the truly the best time for questions.

But then the beast sniffles.

And, though he can only see the length of her hair running down her back, he watches as taut shoulders quake and she curls in on herself. Gentle, broken noises fill the silence that followed the end of the bottle, filling the room so quietly as if it were ashamed of being born in it’s wake.

Mortification settles deep in his gut. “Faunia?”

Her head whips towards him and whips away just as quickly, startled scared by his presence, but he knows he saw the glimpse of wet cheeks.

“ _Shit_ ,” she swears, voice nasally and quivering in a poor attempt to sound calm, hands frantically disappearing behind her hair. “Um, didn’t think anyone was up…”

“You’ve been crying,” he points, still surprised. Dearest Faunia, suffering in the middle of the night, with nobody but herself. “All alone?”

Her only response is silence, all the muscles he can read in her body pulled tight, down to her very fingertips that she has buried in two fists. His eyes glance to the liquid steadily painting straight lines down the wall, heartbreak settling over the shock.

Faunia is not drunk, but she sought out the chill of alcohol to comfort her over the warmth of a person, intending to snuff her sadness into a stupor rather than tell somebody. Her friends, her family, of the Tempest sleeping soundly as their sister in command cries in the dark. How long has this been happening? How long has he not known, not been there for her as she has for him?

His steps are gentle as he walks into the animals den, careful for any moment she may snap at him, but allowing her time to should it come; he won’t force his presence, after all. Fortunately, she allows him to settle next to her on the table, with only a turn of her head to hide behind her curls.

Jaal takes only a moment to take her in. She’s never looked smaller than she does now, in nothing but a ragged shirt, disheveled hair, and guarded fists. “Will you tell me what is wrong?“

“No.” she denies him, though there’s guilt on her lips, as if it isn’t deserved.

“Will you look at me, then? Please?”

A beat of silence feels like slow torture, Jaal almost able to _feel_ her pushing him out and pulling him back in despite her lack of field, fighting with herself over what she wants and what she deserves. It’s a long, aching moment before she peeks at him, cheeks flushed and eyes filled with moisture.

“There isn’t--” Her voice cracks, stops, clears, and tries again around a sniffle. “It was just a nightmare. Go back to bed.”

“A nightmare that still has you frightened,” he persists, hands reaching to sooth her, but she jerks and turns away again at a single whisper of his fingers. It’s hurtful, soul-crushing, to see a woman he’s come to admire so shaken up, as if there’s anything in the world that could defeat her. “ _Please_ , Faunia, say I can help you.”

“You’ll hate me.”

The words striking him in the chest like he’s just been punched, confusion settles a thin layer over the panic. What has he done to make her believe such a thing was possible? “Faunia, I am so proud to call you my friend. There is nothing in this galaxy that could ever make me hate you.”

“ _Yes_ there is,” Something angry flashes across her eyes, blue cyan burning through the shadows, but not once does he fear her ire is directed at him. She shoots off at the mouth like her fury shoots off in a firefight, upset, frantic, shaking as her hand reaches for his face. “The only reason you're so nice to me _now_ is because you don't know how _awful_ I am, and then I’ll tell you, and you’ll change your mind about me, and I’ll lose you--”

Cool fingertips barely whisper against the damage on his cheek before flinching away, just as quick, catching the action by it’s neck before it lingers too long. Both her hands ball against her chest in fists as if she’s desperate to seclude her touch from the world, eyes wide with mortification, not unlike his sister when she was so stricken with horror over shooting their brother.

As if she were dangerous.

As if she could hurt him.

Jaal doesn’t allow her to shrivel away from him as he twists her to face him, and envelopes his hands around her own, gently prying them from her chest to his. He leans closer, closer, until his lips find the shell of her ear in hopes that--no matter how small his voice is in the quiet of the night--she will hear his comfort. “You carry the weight of all of Heleus on your shoulders, but _I_ am here. _I_ am with you. Please, even if just for a night, let me bear some of the weight of your burdens.”

Seconds, minutes, _tick, tick, tick,_ by as Faunia lets herself be held. Even if it is only her cheek against his own, even if it is only her fists in his palms, she fights for even breathes and a calmer frame.

“They did this to me.”

He leans away to look at her eyes, follow her hard gaze, finding her metal hands in his grip. Perhaps she is not unlike himself, stumbling through the traumas of war, dredging up things too disturbing for her mind. “Who?”

“Ellen,” she croaks, and a chill runs through him. “Alec. Both of them.”

The revelation is like death itself.

 _True_ death, not like the dramatics of a screenplay, prepared, romantically weepy, accompanied with practiced choirs and flattering angles. Instead, there is no mood to be felt other than suddenly, silently, _now,_ bodies hitting the floor before he even realizes they're falling.

Jaal’s been living in misunderstanding, he realizes. He had assumed her limbs and eye were sacrificed to the terrors of war, to a failed attempt at her life by weapons, to what’s considered an _accident_ among the battlefield.

But it wasn’t an accident. It was done very much on purpose, by parents not worthy of their titles. Faunia whispers it, and it's like something, somewhere, has dropped dead.

Because Jaal has no words left inside him, he shudders. "...Why? H-How could they?"

“My mom--She, uh…” Faunia sniffs, eyes embarrassed and teary as he watches her dig through the layers of her memory, recollecting the events. “She was studying implants back when they were all brand new. Had this grand scheme that humanity could _build_ themselves to be biotic; upsurge the asari, improve military, all that…”

The rifleman almost regrets asking, almost wants her to stop, wants to be able to hold her silently and wash these horrors away with sweet nothings, wants to make her better without having her relive these memories. But he knows that if he does, she’ll only carry it in her heart until it breaks all over again, and she’s left in another night where she smashes bottles and cries alone.

So, instead, he stays silent in his stun. Listening.

“So she started building me. Took the corners of my brain first.”

_Implants. Her nosebleeds._

“How long ago was this?"

“I, uh--” She sniffs, hiccups, tears silently falling from her eyes by now. She meets his gaze, a little ashamed, trying and failing to feign apathy. “I was eight…?”

He feels sick.

For but a split moment, Jaal entertains Akksul’s regime. He’s wrong, of _course_ he’s wrong, but perhaps he was right in the sense that there’s something dangerous in humanity. Something wicked and feared even among fellow kin. A place in the dark corners of their species where mothers torment their small children.

Jaal dares to hope. "Someone must've stopped this. They _must_ have."

"Nobody _knew,_ " she says, cocking her head in a poor attempt to dry her tears with her shoulder sleeve, so he can still hold her trembling fists in his own. "As soon as Ellen started performing tests, I dropped... I _was_ dropped from school. She just--wouldn't let me outside."

"What about your _brother?_ "

Her nose wrinkles then, sneering. “He still went.”

There's something that goes unspoken, but not unheard, making Jaal's stomach coil in revolt.

_We used to be close._

_Not anymore._

“Your father?”

“He was-- _God,_ ” she laughs, but it’s completely unrecognizable from the blessed rarity he’s come to know, bitter, and hateful, and tear-filled. “I-I’m such a fucking idiot. After Ellen replaced my arms a couple years later, we got word he was going to come visit from his services, and I had this _big idea_ that he’d see what was happening and would just-- _whisk_ me and Freddy away.”

“He didn’t.” It’s more a statement than a question, even though it shouldn’t be.

“He didn’t,” she agrees around a shudder. “Saw me, and he _laughed_ like he was proud, and I found out he was her supplier to all--all--” She flexes her fingers in his palms. “All _this_ bullshit. He was there, _helping_ , when she took my legs.”

His hands tighten around her fists, pressing them closer to his heart. Jaal has had an entire village raise him and, though it’s impossible to get along with so many, he cannot say a _single one_ has failed as a parent. Faunia’s family is so small, so nuclear, and yet neither of these two humans could handle a single child in their care without destroying her mind. A mother taking things from her eight-year-old that she can never get back, replacing them with things that can only scar her, untroubled by the damage it causes. A father so cruel he continues her work in her stead, and leaves the bountiful problems of a crumbling galaxy in her hands as well, just so he can have his way with her too.

How could anyone even think of such a thing, much less actually _put it into action?_   What kind of person would take the time to make plans like this? Of pummeling their child's feelings until they are irreparable, for the sake of the prosperity of _technology?_ To damage a human's mind for a piece of _machinery?_

It’s _revolting_. It’s _abominable_. There's an anger in him that he cannot find words for, so disgusted with her parents, but most of all he is filled with sorrow at the pain she’s endured, at the trauma that’s followed her through the years of her childhood and haunted her sleep.

“Why would you ever think yourself horrible or awful?" he asks. “You are stronger than anyone I have ever known.”

But she’s still crying. “Please don’t say that. Please don’t compliment me.”

“Why not? You’ve experienced such terrors so young, and have lived wearing your trauma on your hands. How can I think of you as anything but brave--”

“Because I killed her.”

Another chill hits him. “What?”

“I--” Her inhale gets caught in her throat, coughing, choking around her words. “I killed her. I j-just--I was so _mad_. I kept lying in bed, _thinking_ about it all, and I--I killed her. I killed my mom.”

He’s helpless to watch as what little is left of her composure finally shatters, frustration, and anger, and _so much panic_ creasing her features as she squeezes her eyes shut. It’s almost as if he’s able to _see_ her spiral down the same road that brought her to this room, front row seats to Faunia as she torments herself trying to justify the events in her head, because she starts defending herself against accusations he hasn’t made. “I’m-- _I’m not sorry._ I won’t be sorry. N-Not when they’re still _doing_ this to me.”

SAM, he realizes, a creation of her fathers that’s currently residing in her head and recording every private thought and feeling and fault. Following in her mother’s stead, indeed, and continuing a long history of mistreatment without so much of a blink.

Jaal decides, eyeing the way this grown woman in front of him swallows the sobs clawing at her throat, hiding her feelings in feign apathy even when they’re so much they’re ready to burst from her, he doesn’t _care_ if she isn’t sorry.

Jaal decides, knowing each step of life has brought her nothing but strife and struggle, knowing the Milky Way has never been home to her, knowing that leaving has only brought on a different nightmare, remembering that she’s told him _she will endure anyway_ , that he doesn’t want her to be.

“Faunia…”

She finally whimpers, so quietly, as if telling him a secret, and Jaal hears a horrible horrible genuity in what she asks him. “Why do I _miss_ them, Jaal?"

His arms wrap around her so forcefully that he jostles their seating, stumbling off the table and forcing himself to a stand as he presses her as close as he can, nearly knocking her over. Her body is unbelievably supple against his own for someone as resilient as she, flesh molding in surrender against hard grooves of muscle and bone. Suddenly as silent as death, Faunia’s unsure hands hover around his person for a moment, not unlike how she was on Aya--unfamiliar with physicality, stunned with affection, insecure of her own touch. Letting out a shuddering breath she had been holding, trembling hands finally settle against his shoulder blades, mere fingertip touches against his skin.

A lone hiccup bounces against his shoulder.

And then she let’s go, crumbling into his chest as she weeps, cries muffled against his skin but no longer hidden. No more words are shared. No more desperate reassurances or dark confessions. No more containing vile memories just for them to explode within their well-hidden casing, leaving dearest Faunia reeling with self-doubt and worries. Now, it is the time for her to feel it. Now it is time for her to let all those events settle in her gut as they are, and know that in it’s simplest form that it _hurts_ \--and that that’s all that matters. That that pain is all the proof she will ever need.

"Pathfinder, there is approximately three hours until the morning shift begins," SAM's voice rings out loud across the walls, mechanical with Faunia's crying--as only a machine can be--but not uncaring. "It would be wise for you and Mr. Ama Darav to get some rest before this time."

Faunia only mutters a curse in reply, suddenly trying all too hard to calm her breathes as she begins pulling away, but he keeps her locked in his insistent arms. "Jaal, I have to get out of here."

"So you can lock yourself in your room and cry there?" he asks, indignant, raising a hand to stroke away the hair sticking to her wet cheeks and reveal her tear swollen eyes. So often has he had to relent to the emotions humans keep so privately to their chest, so often has he had to put up with vague answers and vaguer reasoning, but now he will not leave Faunia when she needs someone in her corner the most. "I do not want to leave you alone tonight."

"What am I gonna say if someone see's me like this?"

Faunia's been living with a story buried deep in her heart like a dead body, never to tell the tale of the crime done onto her under threat of punishment. But Alec is gone now, and Faunia is now far away from his cruelty, but still she is forced to relive her darkest moments as everyone around celebrates his brightest. It's not their fault that they cheer on, and mourn, and remember a monster disguised as a hero. They weren't allowed to see the body in her chest, much less was Faunia allowed to dig it up in the first place.

But now she can. Now Faunia's father can be remembered for what he's done rather than the image he's built himself.

"You tell them the things you've told me."

She but chastises him with his own name. " _Jaal._ "

"They deserve to know," he persists. "You deserve to tell them."

"Tell them their hero isn't all he's cracked up to be? That the guy that died to save me was a _piece of shit?_ " She wipes sloppily at her tears with shaking hands, finally finding the breathe to make her point. "I don't think that'd go over well."

Jaal's taken back by that. These are her friends, her _family_ , yet the biotic does not trust them to choose her over a superior they've never known? "You don't think they'll believe you?"

"You think the Nexus would? That _Cora_ would?"

Jaal wants to be able to argue against that, but cannot find the words. Cora, who talks of Alec with mourning and betrayal as if he were her own, who resents the Pathfinder and her role. The Nexus, both half full and half empty of those who appreciate and adore her, just as he does. Imagine if this were someone like Evfra or the Moshae, whom he'd have to ask all angara everywhere to believe were once horrid people; such backlash he would face from those who simply did not _want_ to believe. Her pain is all she need's to tell herself that what happened was not some fabricated memory, but she may need more to convince other's.

One day, when she is ready, they'll tell at least the rest of the crew. And he will be by her side, ready to defend her, ready to be banished from the herd with her, so she is not alone. For now, he shouldn't add to this precious persons piling stress.

"If that is what you need," he relents, the aspect seeming to calm her some, Faunia's breathes winding down to a sniffle. "But I still do not wish to leave you in this state."

He will allow her her secrecy, will allow her her pride, but he will not allow her to weep in the dark anymore. He makes compromise by hauling her off the table and into his arms, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist with a yelp as he carries her out of the mess hall and to the door of her room. It doesn't open immediately, not until Faunia takes a moment to debate with herself if she'll allow this and murmuring a command to her AI, letting him take in her room. Almost _too_ spacious, a wide mouth of a window that looks out to the expanse of the universe, only it's stars dimly lighting the surrounding furniture. A couch that's more well-kept than Liams, a terminal off to the right, and a mirror to it's opposite that's blemished with a spiderweb of cracks.

"Your mirror is broken."

"...I might've punched it." she slumps defeatedly, sorrow having already left her voice and exhaustion claiming it, and that's all Jaal needs to know as he carries her to the unmade bed just across from him.

A _large_ bed, Jaal notes, only just realizing how intimately he's invading on someone so private. Faunia has never shown him her room despite so often being in his, has never entered showers when her other crew members occupy it--this is as naked as he's ever seen her in fact, both emotionally and physically, Faunia only wearing her shirt, some kind of small pair of pants, and her drying tears. While it's not as if Jaal hasn't taken notice to her more feminine qualities, it's sometimes hard to think of her as anybody but herself, his friend, someone special that's taken him by the reigns of his heart and feels so nice in his arms.

He'll take the couch, he thinks, because while he pushes to remain in her company he doesn't want to be greedy of what she's willing to share.

He lays her down carefully, mattress dipping against the weight of her body just as it does with his knee, her arms and legs easing from his person. Despite himself, he lingers above her for longer than he probably should to take in her state, and through the dark her now clear eyes look through him. Mess of hair fanned out beneath her, pale skin almost glowing in the starlight, cybernetic eye piercing him while the organic one he could fall into forever. She's tired, boneless, but still she does not protest his intrusion of space, thinking. Waiting on his next move.

 _Inviting_ his next move.

He's imagining things again, he excuses as he pushes away such misplaced thoughts, beginning to stand straight. But Faunia pipes up, voice gentle in the shadows.

"You can stay."

"I wasn't planning to leave you."

"I know," she snorts, as if there's something funny in what he's said, but Jaal cannot find it within himself to feel offense when it's probably the closest thing to joy he'll get out of her tonight. "I mean in the bed. The couch definitely isn't wide enough for you."

He somehow manages not to sound too hopeful. "You would not oppose?"

She only shakes her head against the softness of her pillow, already scooting over to fill the empty space beside her and leave another open for him, which he silently takes up. Human beds are--squishy, like she is, complicit for the comfort of frail bodies where angara have to create a nest of blankets for such comforts. Faunia looks small on the other side, legs curled against her torso, facing him with a curious furrow in her brow.

"Jaal?" she asks with her voice still ragged, and Jaal already know's he'll answer any question she offers, turning to face her as she does him.

"Yes?"

"Why're you so nice to me?"

It's a night of sorrowful questions, he frowns. As if he gives kindness for some other reason than feeling it, as if she truly doesn't know what reason he'd treat her so, as if she's done nothing to deserve it, as if she hasn't saved his people and won his heart a million times over.

"You would not receive my affections if you had not earned them," he whispers, hoping she feels his honesty rather than just hears it, hoping his words inspire something _worthy_ inside of her. "Get some rest, darling one."

* * *

 

The pierce to his chest spreads through his veins like drying cement, clawing and agonizing and expanding all his bones from the inside out. Just as the needle leaves his body in a harsh tug, he can feel his own flesh begin to dry, crackle, and split to make room for bone, _his new armor._

It hurts so bad it's almost numbing, head to toe, feeling nothing but _ache_. He cannot breathe. He opens his mouth and cries as hard as he can for help, but no sound comes, trapped in his throat. Already is he feeling his mind slipping, dying, _turning into their willing slaves please someone kill him while he's still himself--_

Cool air greets his throat in heavy breathes, but so does the pitch black, and Jaal jolts upright in a panic as his hands search for his weapons. Nerves shooting off in snaps, jittering his fingers, can't find his _firaan_. He's been kidnapped, he's in one of their cages, they're preparing for him to die right now--

But a hand finds the conclave of his chest, right over his hammering heart, and stills him.

Only a dream, he sighs, exhaustion finding where it had lost him as he surrenders to the arms of a person he hasn't quite found out. His mothers. Or one of his many sisters. Too many fingers, but regardless, it is someone beloved he thinks as sleep claims him.

* * *

He wakes to the assault of brightening lights and the vaguely heard words of an AI, but only remembers he is not in his room when he reaches for his _firaan_ and it is not there. Panic comes only to go, shooed away by the smell of foreign fruit, and bedding far too soft, and...

A weight on his back, he shifts carefully to find Faunia curled against him, arms tucked against her chest as it gently rises and falls in sound sleep. She's so at peace now, eyes like the closed petals of a still budding flower, lips softly parted like the gentle inhale before a song. Faunia never fails to be beautiful, in every light, at every angle.

It's hard to believe that, just last night, this same woman shattered apart just as she shattered her mirror. It's hard to believe that, many centuries ago, this same woman was someone that killed her own mother.

The reasonable reaction would be to be horrified, to be disgusted, to abandon her without another thought or question. As a man that's spent his entire life petrified and in mourning of his loved ones being taken from him by the kett, he's never thought of family as anything but a virtue he's blessed to still have, and yet Faunia--in some way--destroyed her's. Thoughts circulate in voices that aren't quite his own, saying _killing family is wrong, she should've found another way, she's just as bad, she's just as violent._ He should be repulsed. He should want to push her away. He should want to scrub the smell of her bed sheets from his person.

But he see's her face now, and the only thing he feels in his chest is an ache at the thought of waking to her again, sharing their mornings just as they do a bed. His eyes drift to her parted lips now, and on his mind is only fondness, remembering her soft inhale when she's flustered and wondering if her kiss is just as velvety. He thinks back on what was shared last night, and knows more, but does not think less.

A part of him thinks it's because the angara are not without their sins. Roekarr target and kill their own, well-meaning researchers poach the living being's of their history, even Resistance fighters betray their Moshae's, and yet they are still welcomed back home with a slap of justice and eventual forgiveness. But another part, a much larger part, with all of the heart that's been touched by Faunia, knows it's because he feels something deeper.

For all her beauty, she will sometimes be ugly. For all those she's saved, she will sometimes kill. For all the warmth her words bring him, they will sometimes be piercing. With every star she's coaxed out with her song, lighting his path, sometimes he will run into a thick layer of ice.

Jaal wants that.

The mistakes, the risks, _the enduring._ The bad along with the good. Because everything through the fog of those _sometimes_ \--her brilliant mind, her hardy soul, her private smile--is more than worth it.

With Faunia, he wants all in. With Faunia, he's...

He's so in love.

And he will not sympathize with the ghosts of abusers over the person he's fallen in love with.

"SAM?"

The AI materializes at her desk in a blue orb of coding at his command, but his eyes do not leave the beloved alien curled against his side. "Yes, Mr. Ama Darav?"

"Barring on emergencies, let the Pathfinder rest," he requests, just silent enough to keep Faunia from stirring as he begins to remove himself from her sheets, lights already dimming. "I will take over any work she is not needed for."

"Yes, Mr. Ama Darav. I will send you a list of low-priority missions Ryder had in mind."

After pulling Faunia's sheet higher on her form and picking the evidence of her night from the floor, Jaal leaves Faunia's room behind him with the doors sliding shut, already activating his omnitool and leaving her a message to wake to.

_Dearest,_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure how people will react to this chapter, as it's kind of hard to see our protagonist do something like this, but this is where that "embrace your mary sues ya'll" tag comes in. regardless, this particular part is very close to my heart and has a lot of my own struggles with mental illness in it.
> 
> side note to this side note: i'll admit that the recollection of faunia's childhood and her relationship with her family is not fully explained here, and that--to an outside view--it seems there's some holes in her story. there's a lot of factors that key in, specifically that faunia is meant to be in the midst of a mental breakdown and cannot get into the gorey details of her trauma, as well as the fact that i didn't want to make this a big angsty "hey......want to hear about my dark past........." kind of deal. i simplified it to the most important factors of the backstory, and left the rest vague/implied.
> 
> i can promise that her story is much more fleshed out, but that's one of the pro's of having a comment section i can reply to! if you have some holes you want filled, don't be afraid to ask. i just hope you don't mind lengthy answers lol.


	12. You in those little high-waisted shorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the previous nights disastrous revelation, Ryder begins to avoid Jaal. It takes the vaults locking down on the both of them to settle things.

She's avoided him since.

Or, rather, she's avoided the subject of that night altogether.

He knows he has not warranted her ire, as she still invites him to be by her side for every mission, as she still responds to him when spoken to--but that is all. No more visits to his room, or lessons learning his language, or crafting gifts together. Instead there is short, stilted answers and aloof professionalism, as if nothing has transpired between them since the very day they met.

He can't help but mourn the fact that she isn't an angara in this matter, which makes him even more riddled with guilt, but he only ever has the chance to speak with her when she is _around people_. If she were angaran, he could ask her what is wrong without embarrassing her, he could resolve this conflict without worrying that there are people who can hear his pleas for forgiveness.

But she isn't angara. She's human, she's different, she's private--and she's entrusted him with a secret that absolutely nobody else knows. He fell in love, despite all those things.

How can he shame her for them now?

" _20 minutes to Voeld, Pathfinder._ " Kallo calls over the loud speaker just as Jaal, all at once, considers sending another email just to decide against it; too impersonal. Peebee's asked for help fetching dangerous pieces to her new project, and now that there are no more time-pressing matters or Moshae's to save, Faunia has found it initiative to finally activate the vault on Voeld.

Which, despite present company, makes for a _boring_ trek. A mostly silent, long drive with a view made up of nothing but pristine white, miles and miles with no gunfire and the only conversation taking place is Faunia's argument with her AI.

" _Environmental temperatures are within acceptable limits._ " it starts as they near a heating lamp, and promptly pass before it even finishes.

"Yep."

" _I'm reading a severe temperature drop--_ "

"SAM, I know you don't have eyes, but you do _see_ things through mine. Right?"

" _Yes, Pathfinder._ "

"So you absolutely do see us going in and out of heat shields and lamps."

The AI pauses. " _Yes._ "

"So you don't need to tell me about it every time we do," Faunia orders, gritting. "Understand?"

" _Ceasing environmental checks now, Pathfinder._ "

"Gee, _thanks._ "

Even when they've stopped for Peebee's pickup, having to battle the Remnant protecting it, they swallow his ammo rather easily. Despite the beauty of Voeld, Jaal manages to feel like he'd rather be _anywhere else_ right about now, preferably somewhere easy to corner Faunia just for the sake of speaking to her.

"Is this what you need for your project, Peebee?"

"Looks like it! Very cool little piece of Rem-tech."

His mouth twists, asking more to feel the word in his mouth than to actually question it. "Uh. 'Rem-tech'?"

Peebe answers, regardless. "Yeah, shortcut I made up. 'Rem' is short for 'Remnant', and--"

"I--comprehend."

"Every time we come across ruins like this, let's scrounge up what we can." Faunia orders, already heading back to the Nomad to continue their self-given mission.

"Appreciated! You know, _Faunia_ ," The asari speaks to her, name drawn out seductively as if it melts across her tongue, but still he finds fiery emerald glued to him in a sly look. "I can always _make it up_ to you."

The blood in his cheeks sinks to his gut, brow furrowing. Faunia and he are not together, and as such she owes him nothing and can have whatever sexual relations she wishes--angara are not as taboo about the subject as the Milky Way species, anyway--but Peebee's flirtations wound him in this delicate time. She's very aware of this crush of his, and to stare him in the eye as she propositions the object of his affections is like a stab to his feelings.

Faunia deadpans, however, almost tiredly. "I'm not nice to you to get laid, Peebee."

"I know," the asari gives a shrug that's unseen to her, still smiling. "Do _you_ know?"

" _Peebee._ " Faunia warns for reasons he can't discern, biting.

" _Yeah, yeah._ " is all the archaeologist offers back, and gives him a secretive wink of her eye--a gesture she, herself, taught him. Jaal realizes that, despite all these flirtatious gestures, she's actually not flirting at all.

She's trying to show him something.

He matches her pace only to lean down to her level, voice lowered for their ears only. "Do you know something?"

"Only that she's got some deep issues with affection," she answers, slowing her pace to drag out their words. "And that she’s avoiding you.”

The rifleman has no reply to offer to that, eyes downcast to the snow, as if an answer will be written there for him.

“I’m guessing you made your move?” Peebee persists.

“Not quite,” he clarifies. “A… _barrier_ has been broken. I cannot speak of it.”

“Okay, well--if she’s anything like me, she’s gonna think you’re being nice to get something out of it,” the archaeologist explains, a hard, determined glint in her eye. “Prove her wrong.”

“ _Hel-lo?_ ” Their stalling only holds up for so long, though, Faunia standing at the Nomad’s opening with her arms crossed tight. “I’m freezing my ass off over here. Can we all chat somewhere warmer?”

“Coming, _dear._ ” she calls, eyelashes fluttering and deeply sarcastic.

Faunia bites back, fed up. “Not fast enough, _honey._ ”

“Yeah, _Jaal,_ ” Peebee comes as beckoned, throwing one last insisting look over her shoulder. “ _Get a move on._ ”

* * *

 

Voeld's vault apparently holds puzzles and hallways so convoluted, it takes ammo out of their guns, fuel from their jet packs, and hours of their time, filled only with the muttered swearing of Faunia to entertain him. It's the first time he's truly been inside one of these, though, and the knowledge this experience brings is... _life-changing_. Jaal can only describe it as _hand-made_ , with puzzle-work that is not random but set up to be solved, shields that change the temperature around them to something aliens are able to survive, and bits of his language that _are_ words and some that are _not at all_.

Back during his studies, it was a revelation that these vaults were so angaran, so close to their culture. Now, it's a little disturbing, with how much of it is so... othered. Alien. _Personally_ touched, as if _someone's_ instead of _something's_ built all of this tech, that now rules over their entire planets and effects their daily lives. People that he was once one with, somehow, at some point, except his being branched off somewhere and now he's something entirely unintended.

And then there's the heart of it all.

Luminescent liquid cascading down in a blindingly angry waterfall, a metal pyramid rippling with life like it's gulping down breathes and sighing with renewed vigor, fluttering in a smooth rhythm as if blooming just to be reborn again. If one would ask him, during his studies, what he'd think they'd find within the depths of these vaults--well, he doesn't think his imagination could conjure up such things.

Faunia, looking straight on, hovers her hand above it's unfamiliar panels with a readiness. It's incredible how the very walls, and floor, and structure simply bends to Faunia's will. She's but an alien, not of this universe, much less this planet--and yet landing pads rise and fall as her stepping stones at the gentle press of her fingertips, gravity picks her up and cradles her down at the silent command of thought, and even small statues appear at her feet in humble worship as she crosses the vaults many paths. Maybe it shouldn't be surprising with what powers he seen's from her, and what tragic stories she carries in her heart, like something from a tale of mythology.

It's easy to remember she's alien, with how she looks, with how different their cultures are. What's hard is remembering how _ancient_ she truly is.

"Get ready to run." Peebee, beside him, interrupts his thoughts to helpfully inform him. He looks over his shoulder quickly to assess, and cannot resist the curl of distaste that meets his lip. The path in and out of here is made up of sharp turns, winding zig-zags, and few and far in-between platforms to jump through, rather than a straight line. Fortunate evolution has given him spring to the bend of his legs, but nonetheless, if he wants to survive he will have to be as careful as he is swift. When he turns his attentions back, Faunia's hovering hand rests it's light weight against the panel.

The pyramid shudders to a halt and clamps still with a resounding toll, bright liquid flashing red in shocked rage, and immediately does something begin to rise from the very ground. Dark, and shapeless, and haunting, like an angered phantom having been disturbed, and Jaal is so stricken with fear it takes Faunia elbowing him as she bolts past to make him turn on his heels.

He doesn’t see it, but quickly does he _feel_ it grow in size, shifting the air around them and resisting against the movement of his legs like an interior tornado. The fighter does not need to work up the adrenaline to exert to a speed he wouldn’t volunteer to, the fright inside him thankfully doing it for him.

" _Get to the exit!_ " he hears Faunia order through the howl of chaos, the padding of boots soon distancing.

His feet skid almost painfully against the footwear of his armor as he slides to a halt, turns, and watches as Faunia rears off towards a separate room. The hungry fog is closing in by the second, soon to trap her in the small enclosure she's so confidentially running towards, smoking her out only to swallow her whole.

Jaal ignores Peebee's worried calls as he races to her, no plan or strategy in mind, other than _keeping her safe._

As he makes his approach to the room, he takes little time to assess the situation--Faunia rummaging through a chest, closing smoke, wide door frame, _the sound of gears turning inside it as if it plans to make motion_ \--before he spreads himself at the opening, bracing against panels that are sure to slide shut. If only she can go through the supplies quickly and run beneath his arms, and they can continue their sprint--

But his arms almost _snap_ with the force the door's try to close with, shoulders loudly cracking as they're pushed inwards and muscle shaking under the pressure, but still he fights it. He traps his own breathe inside his lungs as the dust envelopes him, but the flick of metal shards in the air leaves him gasping, inhaling, _choking_ \--

His _rofjinn_ tugs taught at it's cape, and not long after are there thin arms wrapping around his mid-section and yanking him back. He stumbles backwards, tripping over Faunia's feet on the way until they both lose their footing, and he falls on top of her as an angry clang fills the air.

Things go vaguely silent, lungs pained and straining as wind howls from a distance, like in another room.

Like on the other side of the doors.

"No, no--!" Faunia panics beneath him, slapping his side in signal to move his bulk off of her as she squirms desperately. " _Shit, shit, shit, shit!_ "

Jaal rolls so Faunia can aggravate over being trapped, and immediately does his body convulse in a curl and submit to a coughing fit, not breathing air but pure _sting_ as the biotic takes her anger out in the form of punching the door that will not open for her.

"Peebee!" she hears her call over the comm. channel, and through his pain, he feels her dread too as he remember their asari friend was left to the brunt of the storm. "Peebee, report! Are you okay!?"

" _\--Good as I can be,_ " she chimes through their ears, and relief ails whatever extra hurt the panic brought, though still does it pain him to breathe. " _Luckily, I found an ice locker to get myself trapped into. Where are you guys?_ "

Faunia sighs. "Same situation."

" _Well, crap,_ " she broods, taking this rather casually. Nobodies dead, at the very least. Locked in, but not dead. " _What now?_ "

Faunia orders for her AI, rushing with adrenaline, yet with no action to jump into. "SAM?"

“ _Once the vault has been activated, all doors presume immediate lock down, until another breakdown has occurred. This is likely to protect from outside sources tampering with what’s been fixed._ ”

Faunia’s tone is wrought with impatience. “That’s great, but how do we get out?”

A pregnant pause. “ _If there is a connection, I can manually override the controls, and attempt to deactivate the vault again. This would initiate the doors to unlock, but due to your lack of presence and unfamiliar technology, may take some time. This is also not guaranteed to be possible._ ”

"That's as convenient as it's going to get," he hears her sigh, but determination does not leave her. "Do it."

" _Commencing now, Pathfinder._ "

Jaal is unable to keep silent for her concentration any longer, lungs aching into another coughing fit, and not long after does he feel himself being dragged. With some struggle, Faunia props him against the chest, looking over his person at his right. “Are you going to be okay?”

He forces himself to breathe deep, feeling his own bodies inner workings. A sharpness between his shoulders that tells whispers of a sprain, but no damage that cannot heal on it’s own, the sting in his lungs having already sobered into a dull ache. “It will pass.”

“…I’m so sorry.” she mutters, guilty, and he looks on as her gaze is too shamed to meet his. But he feels no anger, no grudges, not even panic at their current entrapment, but relief.

Finally, they are alone.

"Did you get my message?"

Her reply does not come right away, but her drive for action halts all the same, Faunia eyeing him with a heat in her cheeks and a suspicious furrow in her brow. "...Yeah."

"So?"

" _So?_ "

"Is 'dearest' too strong of a word to use?"

 _Enough of this vagueness_ , what he used to think with such frustration, he now smiles to. He know's Faunia well enough now to know that it is a product of her shyness, that she feigns ignorance or annoyance to avoid speaking of something she doesn't want to. He wished she wouldn't hide herself so, but it's endearing that she does so with _him_ , even though she knows he's only ever persisted for more of her. Like she's unconsciously working on herself, surrendering when his only weapon is his gaze, wanting to give as much as he's given her simply because he _asks_.

"...It isn't," His heart burns alight, gentle smile broadening, but the biotic is not feeling as affectionate. "The timing is confusing, though."

Just like that, his heart plummets back down. Faunia moves from her kneeling to sit beside him instead, back against the crate, knee's to her chest, and Jaal speaks tentatively. "...Because of our last interaction?"

In the tension that jolts under her armor, he can almost physically _see_ the sickly gurgle that shoots through her blood, offering only but another beat of silence between these steely walls. Jaal immediately regrets his open words, because even if they both know it is true, that does not give him the right to say it so freely. Not now. Not when this precious woman is deciding whether or not she regrets telling him.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like that," He watches her lips press in a tight line of distaste, Faunia not meeting his eyes as he stares on. "I know all those things I said--I _did_ , were awful, and I'm sorry you just generally had to deal with it all. I shouldn't of put you in that situation. But I don't want you to feel like you have to help me, or pity me, or that you're stuck with me, or anything. So... if you want to go back to Aya, I'll understand."

Apparently, Faunia's issue is only with herself.

Somehow, being free of any fault spares him no relief, not when it means Faunia stews in a bitter mixture of shame, and guilt, and embarrassment. Not when she thinks herself so horrid, that the only thing that makes sense in her mind is that Jaal wants to _escape_.

"Do you want to know how I remember that night?"

"I don't even like hearing that you _remember_ it," she scoffs, thinking herself subtle when she rolls her eyes to herself, yet relents anyway. "But go on."

"I remember walking in on a strong woman having a very weak moment. I remember you telling me the _worst_ story of a very young girl having to grow up much too soon, and how against all the odds life has stocked up against her, she fought. Just as I've always known her to," Jaal speaks softly as he bares his heart before her feet, and her lowered head rises to look at him with swimming eyes, shocked, and ashamed, and so horribly sorrowful, like she's undeserving of his praise. But Jaal is willing to sit here all night with her, speaking in this empty metal room with only their wits, singing her praises until she finally feels how special she truly is. "I remember you crying in my arms. I remember you wrecked with your own panic--and yet, when the nightmares were too much, it was _you_ that comforted me."

She denies, stubborn. "That's a really heroic way of saying I killed my mom."

"You're a hero to me," Jaal refutes even still. "I'm not ashamed of you, Faunia. I meant what I said in my message."

"...Even the part where you called me beautiful?"

It brings a smile to his lips. "Especially that part."

Silence shifts between them in a long pause, the biotic ducking her head as if it'll stop his stubborn gaze trying to hold her's, his naked feelings, her own flustering. She whispers among the dark, like she's pained, like she's tormented, and Jaal doesn't understand despite Faunia's vulnerability quivering down to his very bones. "What're you doing to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I just--I used to think that... _God_ , it sounds so miserable to say out loud, but I always thought I was just destined to be screwed. I haven't had a single good streak throughout my universe to the next, Jaal. Not a single one, not since I was like, a _baby_ ," she opens to him, like a flower that has already withered blossoming for the first time, cracking at the petals. "I didn't get the freedom to leave my parents, or choose my own job, or make friends or fall in love. I didn't even get to keep my own thoughts mine."

 _600 and some years_ , something whispers inside him. _Ancient_ , he's reminded. Even with what he knows of her, even with how close they've gotten, even with how deep their trust runs, will he ever truly understand her? Can anyone understand a being that is entire galaxies, and time-lapses, and home lives, away from them? An old ghost that should have passed on long ago, with an unloving family unlike his own, so different that he cannot even say for certain if she _bleeds_ the same?

Jaal wonders with a sinking sense, are their differences simply too many, destined to distance them?

"And then I get lead here. I get lead to you," she confesses, and Jaal perks with new life, like his entire being is born again. "And you're handsome, and you're so, _so_ good, and you _like me_ despite everything. I mean, _I_ don't even like me, and--and I just I feel like I'm being a major idiot. All these years, and what, I'm _expecting_ something?"

When they watched the setting sun of Havarl at the Forge, when Faunia whispered so tenderly that it was the best gift ever given to her, he realizes she didn't mean the view.

She meant him.

An entire life of strife, of struggle, of trauma, killing her monsters only to be trapped with another, not even karma to bring her justice--and then she's dragged here, and suddenly there is freedom of her fathers death, suddenly there is the family of the Tempest, suddenly there is a man willing to love her without shame or fear.

How incredibly _easy_ it could have been for them to miss each other, if only she had better parents, if only he was not so curious to run to her when she arrived. He'd ask how different things would be if he hadn't boarded her ships, but Jaal already _knows_ \--he already knows he'd be left in the Resistance feeling like a nothing, and that Faunia would be stuck believing the voices of ghosts, who tell her the same. How could it be that it was simply chance that they had met, a tormented alien girl who only needed Jaal's kindness, and Jaal who only needed her bravery, to tell them both that they are worth something?

To think, all of this started by bumping into each other.

That his eyes would've never seen the most beautiful person in the known universe, that his heart would've never thrummed to life at her words or actions, that Jaal would've missed out on meeting the love of his life by just an inch.

"I awaken hope in you," he finishes for her, heart threatening to choke and explode with how fast it's beating with excitement, at the mere prospect alone. "And that's frightening. To hope for something, for once, and risk it being dashed."

"Sure. Yeah," she shudders, smiling bitterly through the shivering. "Funny how you can cut my sentences in half, but--yeah."

"You awaken hope in me too," he says quickly, as if he's running on limited air and if he doesn't speak now, she'll never hear his words. Her eyes snap to him, wide. "I always thought that... I'd spend my entire life being replaceable, and then die by some nameless kett soldier, but _you_ came. And I feel... renewed. _Worthy_. You came to me, and you've changed everything."

"That's--I don't know what to..." She struggles to speak through chattering teeth, the icy temperatures of Voeld quickly freezing through the dead vault's walls, and through to her armor without the help of a shield. There's no air conditioning or heating system in this place, after all, and the snow on Voeld no doubt runs miles and miles underground--it's a wonder how much smaller the planet might look, if it all melted away. Remembering her words of humans and their deathly sensitivity, he reaches for the clasp of his _rofjinn._

"I'm sorry. It is my fault we are both here," he says as he drapes it across her shoulders, buttoning it at the front and smoothing it down her back as he opens his arms to her. Her shorter height makes it look longer on her, the cape no doubt reaching near her ankles where it only reaches a little past the back of his knee's, but that means it will double as a cover for her. "Come here. Come closer."

She turns and curls into his side, her need for warmth trumping her preference for space, and--oh, precious one, she's _trembling_. "Hhh--H-How is this y-your fault? I-I-I ran in here."

He shushes softly against the crown of her hair, letting his breathe warm against her skin and indulging himself in the scent of her curls, as he tucks his cape better against her. "Hush now, darling one. Focus on getting warm."

They both settle into comfortable silence, Faunia hooking a finger or two in one of the many belts of his armor as she allows herself to be held, just the two of them breathing together as they try to keep warm. Even within their unpleasant confines, Jaal can't help but think this is how it should be, his fingers petting through her hair, her own curled in his outerwear, his field buzzing with a lazy heat, as he's forever dizzy with the smell of foreign fruit and their shared warmth.

He mulls over confessing to her right there and then, but not with feelings so run raw, not with such depression nipping at their heels. He will tell her at a happier time, at a better place than here, when the news will not seem as shocking as much as his kindness as been.

"So," He smiles against her instead, teasing "You think I'm handsome?"

Faunia pauses, and then dodges the question entirely. "Mm--My hands are freezing up."

But she knows well by now that he will only ever persist, asking again and again, until he is satisfied in his understanding. "Are angara _attractive_ to you, Faunia?"

"Humans are attractive to _you_ ," she accuses, yanking at his strap lightly in gentle-hearted punishment, not actually angry. "And asari. And turians."

"Yes," he admits, as he's not ashamed of his appreciation of the many forms of life, but still he grins. "I'm interested in what _you_ think, however. Are angara attractive to you?"

Another shiftless silence, allowing his question to hang motionless in the center of the room, and though Faunia speaks little her words shake him to his very core when she finally does.

"... _You're_ attractive to me," she murmurs after pushing her face against his collar, nose cold against that very inch of his neck, and chills scatter wild across Jaal's skin. "Thought so when I first saw you."

On Aya, when she was so unknown to him, when he was claiming her personal space as his and using it to threaten her, when the only thought on his mind was that she looked so strange, and that the scowl on her face should have been _shot off_ \--through all that, she was thinking him attractive. _Dreamy eyes. Sparkle in your eye._

At that, he's knocked defenseless all over again, breathing her exotic scent in deep only to sigh it against her soft flesh, nuzzling the curls against his nose, lips pressing in a gentle kiss.

Faunia sniffs, her trembling gone, but still shuddering. "Are you _kissing_ me?"

So humans know what that gesture is, and what it means.

"Faunia?" he asks in a stray whisper, eyes falling shut, the heat in his field lapping at the cooled embers of his lust as he finds it within himself to still proposition. "Are your lips cold?"

"I--" She stops before her sentence can become a stammer, moving to look into his eyes with shock in her own, but no offense.

And just then, the faint hum in the walls that he hadn't noticed before whines, and goes silent. He watches as her eyes stray around the empty room, as if something of a tell will be there, no doubt expecting SAM to ring in her head soon.

" _Door's are now open, Pathfinder_ ," And ring it does, uncaring of the shared moment it interrupted. " _Though, I will need your assistance to activate the vault again. Prepare to escape the oncoming purification field, when you do._ "

"Guess we have to get a move on," she says regrettably, cocking a knowing brow at him, but he does not argue; their shared warmth can only keep her alive for so long, after all. Though, when she makes move to stand, she stumbles as soon as she shifts and falls back. " _\--Shit._ "

His eyes are drawn to her legs as she tries to shift them, and how they drag across the floor, ankles still as stone. Faunia raises one of her hands to test it, and her fingers still thankfully bend, but only in broken, flinching motions; her arms had the fortune to stay at least somewhat protected between both their bodies, while her legs were left unattended to. The cold has not only bitten through her armor, but to the inner-workings of both prosthesis, freezing them solid and dead.

"Guess Peebee's driving." Faunia scoffs, and like just the mention of her presence invites her chaos, the doors open to present the asari.

"Didn't you guys hear SAM--oh," Her eyes dart between the two as a devilish smirk takes up her features, and Jaal can only imagine what this must look like, what it _could have been_ if this were anywhere else. Faunia practically sitting on his hip, his _rofjinn_ and arm around her shoulders, keeping warm in a locked and private room. "Should I give you two a minute? Or... thirty?"

He ignores the insult to his stamina, far too worried about the frostbite that may soon settle into the Pathfinders connecting flesh. "Her legs are frozen. We have to activate this vault again and get her to the Nomad."

"Oh," she sobers, and instantly does she enter to solve the issue rather than await for them outside, making move to grab at Faunia's ankles. "Okay. You take her arms, and I'll take her legs."

He's not certain about Peebee's uncertainty, though. Faunia is smaller than the both of them and, even with the added weight of her metal false limbs, will no doubt be light in his arms. Resistance training demands they lift far heavier things than a _person_ , after all, and he'd be rather useless as a teammate if he could not carry half his weight. As Peebee's directing him, already has he moved to scoop the Pathfinder in question into his arms, hauling her up with him as he makes his stand.

Faunia squawks her disapproval, fingers finding the straps in his shoulders in a much tighter grip, but Peebee whistles. " _Charming bastard._ Wish I thought of that."

"You cannot _carry me_ all the way to the panel, and then _haul ass_ back. There's no way." Faunia accuses, doubtful, but he thinks she should know by now that he very much _can_ from when he first lifted her. He'd remind her so, if Peebee were not here.

"You are no extra weight," he smiles. "We should be fine."

"You said it, not me." Peebee adds, twisting on her heel and signaling for them to get moving, and Jaal leaves that vault feeling more satisfied than when he came in.

* * *

Faunia finds him--in the midst of ribbing Liam about their sleep habits--before he can find her, freshly showered and prosthesis' already thawed and cleaned.

She asks, fingers fidgeting. "Can I ask you a question?"

Strange. That's usually his role, but he's more than proud that she is taking the initiative for once, smiling as he nods to her request. "Of course. If I can answer them, I will."

"Do you have a mate? A, uh, partner?"

That's quite the question, isn't it? He's curious too, what Faunia's past relationships were once like--or, nowadays, if she's ever truly _had_ any. Faunia is so skittish to touch, so unused to affection and kindness, Jaal can only guess her father's mistreatment was so encompassing there simply was no _room_ for romance to blossom. So much control did he want over her, he did not allow for Faunia to taste love in a family, much less in friends or partners.

But that's a talk for another time, more secrets that only they trusted two will share, Jaal answering instead of bothering her with such deep questions. "I don't. Not for a long time..."

"'Not for a long time'?"

"Or ever, really. Some comforting flings, but... I--fell in love with a girl once. Allia," he reminisces, over soaring times and embarrassing times all at once, smiling thinly. "We were young... _I_ was young."

He remembers, in their youth, how he'd forgotten all language when he first met her. How her yellow skin drew his eye through entire crowds, how the coming days he happily played the fool for her, stammering love-stricken compliments for the sake of her teasing laughter. "It was my first _vesaal_ on Aya. We worked on the same farm. She was a little older, a researcher. I... can still hear her laugh, and see her eyes. She kissed me, and I was hers--thrilled and... _seduced._ "

And then, when she met someone she could take _seriously_ , she threw him away.

Maybe he's still all those things. Older but still young, reckless with his heart, happily foolish, stammering confessions to another that may not want him.

The difference is it's over someone that stammers back, for once.

The woman in question frowns. "I have a bad feeling about this."

He can't help but laugh some, Faunia bringing some humor in his sad life, akin to when she's insulting herself. But, even though it's funny because it's true, doesn't mean the heartache is gone for either of them. "My older brother came to Aya. He was already famous in the Resistance."

" _There it is,_ " she confirms, lip curling in that awkward expression, like she does. "Where is Allia now? Did she...?"

"They came back to Havarl, and she joined our family. She became one of our mothers."

"You have to see her _every day?_ "

"No," he clarifies, a pang of sorrow echoing through his bones. "They were taken by the kett. Their children survived."

Faunia pauses, muttering a dispirited, quiet " _Oh._ "

Despite Allia's games on his heart, she still holds a special place within it, and not a single ounce of him holds any grudges. Just because she was not his did not mean she stopped being beautiful, just because she belonged with another did not mean she stopped being good-hearted, just because their childish dalliance did not blossom into something real did not mean he shouldn't mourn the empty seats her and his brother have left at the dinner table.

Besides, with how his life is now, Jaal could not be happier with being rejected. He can only hope they're at least dead now, rather than somewhere out there being willful slaves to their murderers, having moved on and reborn into a life that will hopefully be happier by the time they're adults once again.

"So--" Faunia starts again, the word catching on her tongue, voice croaking as she grits out her words. "You're single then?"

Jaal balks. "--What?"

Faunia balks back, feigning ignorance. "What?"

Liam shouts, suddenly involved. " _WHAT?_ "

Just like that, Faunia is left stumbling in her flustrations and frustrations, blushing and barking all at once. " _\--Liam!_ "

"I've been standing here the entire time!" their brother in arms argues, bug-eyed, swinging the datapad in his hand in a wild shrug. "What were you expecting!?"

"I expected you to _keep your nose out of my business!_ " she bites back, jaw set and teeth clenching, eyes wide in horror as she switches between her accuser and him. "I'm-- _so sorry._ I don't know why I was so committed to stick with that line, I'm--"

Liam interjects again. "I don't know either!"

" _LIAM._ "

“ _Leaving._ ” the crisis agent responds to his impending own, quickly darting through the doors in front of him, and leaving Faunia to deal with her disaster. Though, she refuses to, beginning to stomp after him to punish him for her embarrassment.

"I--" Just as she does, she turns on her heel quickly to offer him one last sentence. Stammering again, voice caught, not wanting to embarrass herself more than she has, but still she tries. “I think you’re interesting, and--well-- _great_. Anyway, _I'dliketogettoknowyoubetter, okaylaterbye._ ”

She darts away quicker than Liam, leaving him in a room stunned with as much silence as he, trapped in his own awe. Was she asking because...?

Once his brain catches up with what was said, he _smiles._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know, it's times like these i realize this fic took, what? seven chapters for faunia to just smile at jaal? eleven to get into faunia's backstory and have jaal send his first email saying 'hey, you're pretty'?
> 
> well, thirteen is going to be her finally meeting the family, and we all know what happens there ;)


	13. One love, two mouths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finally confessing their attraction to each other, it's time to make something of it. Jaal takes Faunia to his family home, praying they won't scare her away.

"You absolutely _cannot_ do that."

" _Since when do children tell their mothers what to do?_ " Sahuna lightly chastises over the line, knowing full well he's too many years away from being a child, making his face fall to his palms.

"You cannot ask her to call you ' _mother_ ' as soon as you meet her," he feigns demanding, but if he were honest, it's much closer to begging. "Do you want to scare her away? Do you want to embarass me?"

"Feh. _'Embarrassed'. I thought you were past that age._ "

"I was-- _I am._ But, this is different."

" _I know,_ " she suddenly coos, longingly, and the rifleman has to bite back the urge to groan. " _My son is in love._ "

"You cannot tell her that either," he continues, as his true mother makes it hard to be persistent when she ignores it all. "I need no help whatsoever to confess my affections to Faunia. It's _very important_ that everyone knows that."

Angara society is built on the foundations of their honesty, and while there are many strife's and mistakes made on the road to building a culture, while there will always be problems to fix, while they can always strive to be better, it's one of their proudest practices. Seeing the Milky Way so without it gives him enough perspective to appreciate it even more, even though his heart aches for them. Their own biology gains so much health from physical affections alone, yet still they withdraw from it, because they are taught it is too personal. Each is so different yet so similar in their struggles, yet they still practice in the art of lying until their experts, avoiding backlash but tricking themselves into thinking they are alone. Needing so much to talk, to speak, share their thoughts, open their hearts, but still keeping secrets that allow tormentors to live on and remaining tight-lipped as they slowly deteriorate.

Faunia deserves so much more than that.

Which is why, contradicting, Jaal can't help but want his family's honesty to _shut up_. His confinement on his confession is not a lie, per-say, but--he wants to be the very first to tell his truth to her, afraid it will be somewhat sullied if it comes out as a joke from a teasing sibling or an overexcited mother.

" _I will tell everyone to be on their best behavior!_ " Sahuna promises, and Jaal can only hope that is not eagerness tainting _her_ truth. After hearing some of Faunia's tale--only that she has recently been orphaned to an unloving family, Jaal being careful with what secrets he spills--his true mother has been more than ready to provide, almost like she's forgotten that this hypothetical new daughter is completely alien to their customs.

"I hope they listen." For both his and Faunia's sake, he thinks as he flickers through his omni-tool, and into his email.

" _I do too._ " she agree's, voice deepened in knowing, as he types. _Meet My True Mother..._

* * *

 

It's well within the night when they finally exit the shuttle, and enter his childhood home, but Sahuna is like a bright light racing towards him as soon as they set foot. "--Jaal, _Jaal!_ "

He groaned over the eagerness that does not match her age over the phone, but seeing her now, he cannot help but to be filled with it. Aliens landing on Aya, boarding the Tempest, exhaltation--so much has happened, and for each he has begged the sky that he should soon see his family, so that he can hold them and feel them breathe rather than hear their voice from great distances. The rifleman quickens his step just as she unabashedly does, reveling in the coming hug it brings him.

Though, she no doubt see's the small alien behind him, and her excitement betrays her as she asks even as she holds him. "Is this your friend?"

"Yes. A very special friend," he nods, pulling away and turning to introduce the two. "Faunia, this is my true mother. Sahuna Ama Darav."

His true mother is kind enough to have had pay attention to her personal space, restraining herself to the spot she stands, hands holding themselves in front of her to keep them from touching all over. Despite all the eagerness, all the impatience, all the boisterous talk that she will embarrass everyone in the room with how invasive she will be, when finally faced with Faunia she only wants her respect and approval. Now, all the eagerness is only in her elated smile, proud to finally be in front of the object of her son's affections.

He's proud too, of how accepting, how open-minded, she's being of these odd and unfamiliar differences. Jaal's truly been raised by the finest.

But, as Sahuna dips her toes in the customs of humanity, Faunia dips hers in the customs of angara. She surprises the both of them, striding easily to his mother and wrapping her in the sweet embrace of her arms.

"Nice to meet you," she says, Sahuna's smile reaching all the way to her eyes in a burst of upmost cheer, restraints falling away as she returns the hug tightly. Jaal feels his heartstrings tug at the sight, like all the stars in heaven have fallen to their humble home, and hang centered there to shine bright on his beloved and his mother. Before, his precious Faunia was once so resistant to touch, and yet here she is embracing his mother so openly and whole-heartedly. The pride he feels is overwhelming, beaming down at her when she cannot even see. "I know angara like the hugging."

Once she steps away however, the floodgates burst, leaving Jaal already regretting bringing her here. "Jaal's told me how much he admires you!"

He's dreaming. She did _not_ just tell her that.

"He has?"

_She did._

He feels a blush creep up his cowl as Faunia's judgment falls to him, only offering a shy smile in return before he can't bear to face the reveal of his infatuation anymore. It's only then does he recount with painful clarity how many emails he's sent about this crush; how many times he mentioned her at least once, how many where she was the subject alone, with what detail he'd describe her stunning good looks, and immeasurable strength, and brilliant risk taking. _Stars, he's in so deep why'd he send so many to his mother of all people._

"He's my favorite!" But Sahuna is not so merciful, not giving him a chance to protest as she continues. "Smart. Loyal. Kind," So coincidentally has she forgotten his requests to woo her alone, his eyes looking anywhere but the either of them. _Please stop._ "A great shot--writes poetry! Sews--"

He coughs, finally offering her a pleading look. "Mother..."

Just then, she gives a knowing smile, leaning forward to press a kiss to his frowning cheeks. She does these things on purpose, he swears. "I'm late for a Resistance meeting. Stay clear."

She steals one last fleeting hug from precious Faunia before she passes them, greedy to give her her affections, and no doubt longing for the day she will finally call her family.

"So you've been talking about me," Faunia pipes up once his true mother has grown small in the distance, Jaal meeting her teasing smile with a bashful one of his own. "To your mother."

"I have, yes. And, just so you know-- _every_ child is her favorite."

Despite Sahuna's bragging, he can't help but be renewed with vigor at how well that went, thrilled with Faunia braving a chance with openness and electrified by her willingness to touch with the unfamiliar. Already, his stride is more bold as they make way for his home, ready to face the hoard of his family.

"Everyone!" he calls, more confident. "This is _Faunia._ "

And, immediately, do they try to hammer it down.

"Look what the kaerkyn dragged in!"

"Should my kids start calling your new friend ' _auntie_ '?"

"Jaal's home! And he's brought a _lady-friend_ over."

"You gonna give your friend some _real_ food?"

It's the first he's ever felt his family so... _loud_ , suddenly very aware of their boisterous nature against Faunia's very quiet 'hi'. She must feel out of place, much like how he felt when he first joined the Tempest, straight down to the very clothes on her skin--the poor woman fretted over whether it'd be rude to wear armor or not, and in his foolish forgetfulness he told her that she may wear something more comfortable, but to perhaps keep on a chest piece in case of Havarl's usual wild danger. He forgot to account for the fact that, coming in and out of Resistance meetings, angara wear their armor almost like a second skin anyway. Now, Faunia stands in an awkward mixture of both, a thin tee shirt with her Initiative chest piece locked around her shoulders, and an anxious swim in her eyes.

He's so used to the bouncing voices, the crowded spaces, the pestering jabs, he's forgotten to consider what a _nightmare_ this must be for her. Even Teviint joins in, and Jaal has half a mind to think he hates her--but decides indefinitely that that's an awful thought, and takes it back.

"Jaal," his auntie chimes in, a grin in her words, seeming to have caught on to his siblings teasing. "You bringing someone special to meet us?"

He clears his throat for a second time. Honestly, he doesn't know what he was thinking, trusting everyone to not embarrass him over bringing a girl over.

In their crowding, he tries to introduce the some that come to keep conversation with her, and the _many_ that come to pet at her hair and touch at her round features. Jaal--though he's no different in his fascinations--almost chastises them, thinking the children are behaving better than they, having the decency to hide behind their parents legs at this strange creature that has graced them.

"So pale."

"All this hair!"

"Her nose is kind of big, hm?"

"How'd you lose your limbs?"

That last question has them both reeling, Jaal finding the source to the voice--his cousin, Etta--and giving it's owner a look that demands him to _desist_ as Faunia stammers. "Oh. I, uh..."

He cannot read well, however, smiling down gently at her. His intentions are curious, and well-meaning, and he can tell by the biotics bitten tongue that she does not blame him, but it's his kindness that makes it so hard for her. "Will you tell me the tale? I've never met an amputee before, but we usually tell stories over our new scars."

Put on the spot, Faunia gives him an overwhelmed look, flustering. In her attempts to take on their open hands and words, she's been rendered oversensitive and frazzled, slightly trembling, calling for help with her eyes.

" _Actually,_ " he interjects, before the silence grows too long, grabbing her hand to ground her and quickly excusing them. It's fortunate that he had planned to get her alone anyhow, able to pull her through the small gathering without any resistance. "I'd like a moment alone with Faunia."

"Oh, _of course,_ " his cousin smiles wide, eyes twinkling with mischief, and for all of Jaal's fear in their open words he thinks he hates their _knowing looks_ even more. "Maybe over dinner?"

She gives a forced nod as he hurries her to his room, the door closing automatically behind him and muffling the infinite chatter of his family, finally offering a place of solace.

"Okay. That's..." she begins to murmur, offering an apologetic look, though it is not her that should apologize. "A little crazy."

"You did very well, if that means anything," he reassures, stealing just a moment more of her hand in his to squeeze it in comfort, and the biotic's anxiety turns into a smile. "I wanted to bring you here, anyway. My room. My tiny sanctuary."

It's a small room, made up of only a short roof and a bench to sleep on, with a few past projects strewn about in a mess that he moves to clean from his bed. Jaal knows he should really tidy up, but it's difficult to throw anything away when it's all things he's created; a crate holding the many sketches of schematics he drew as a child, one with but the many extra parts he didn't need when building his tools of choice, a box with--Alfit?

"Oh no. Who put this here?" he worries, sitting on his bed with the crate in his lap, and Faunia moves to join him.

"Schematics?"

"When I was seven, my aunt stole a kett weapon for me. So I took it apart. To learn." he explains, opening the crate to find that thankfully the remains were not tampered with by careless siblings. Still dried out, though kept fresh with the boxes mechanism airtight mechanism he built, retaining it's purpose to accurate study without the fear of decay devastating it.

"And that is--was-- _a kaerkyn._ "

"He died, so I... also took him apart."

"To... learn?"

"Why not?" he shrugs easily, but when he see's the awkward curl of her lip, the suffering nod of her head, the heat of shame hits him.

It's made sense in his head, at least, and not once has anyone shamed him for it. With the kett threat swallowing all of their priorities, any real education was deemed as a thing of the far future, and anyone interested in any subject other than fighting had to outcast their duty as protectors and commit their entire lives to teaching themselves. For Jaal, or any child's mind, that wasn't good enough. He wanted to know _anything_ about _everything_ , he wanted to know things without being entirely _useless_ to his people, he wanted to take apart things and learn, but most of all he didn't want _the kett_ to force him into _ignorance_. Not once, will Jaal ever give them the satisfaction of calling them _stupid_ , of validating their false ideals that they are _animals_.

It only makes sense to him that he take advantage of any opportunity to learn, study, and carry that knowledge simply so... so _he can have it_. Alfit had died, had no use of his body anymore, and thus the dissecting would be painless; it was moral, and useful for knowledge, and Jaal needed it far more than his pet did now.

...He supposes he could have at least taken a picture after he was done, and buried the remains, but physical demonstrations are better than pictures? When was the last time he told someone about this, that wasn't family, anyway? _What the hell is he doing?_

"I--don't show people these things." he excuses, apologetic, as he quickly closes the crate and tucks it back into it's appropriate cubbyhole. Apparently Jaal doesn't _need_ his family to make a fool of himself, not daring to peek at the disgusted look Faunia no doubt still wears.

"...Humans sign up to donate their own remains to science, after they die," Faunia's chuckle is soft, though, making excuses for the rifleman and surprising him. "I'm kind of jealous of you, actually."

He can't help but be a little disbelieving. "You're _jealous?_ "

"I mean, this all might be-- _a bit much_ , but... I kind of like all the chaos. Like the Tempest. You have all your family here, being embarrassing, and bugging the hell out of you, and..." She trails off, voice sinking into something quiet and somber, like she's afraid to speak. "I've... I've never had an inch of that, y'know?"

To think, that the reality of family would be a nightmare to dearest Faunia, who is orphaned to parents who never offered the love and laughter his family brings. To think, that all the trouble they bring to him would somehow make the Pathfinder think less of him, when her mother and father have given her so much worse. To think, that his family would shame him with their too-loud and too-open affections and frighten her away, when it's what she's needed for the past six hundred years of her life.

The only person that's shamed Jaal tonight is himself.

Because Faunia loves his family _back_ , for these exact reasons.

She must read his silence as annoyance, or awkwardness, or disgust, because already does she begin to apologize. "I'm sorry if I sound like a broken record."

"It's all your's," he says quickly, but her curious glance scares his gaze to his knee's yet again. "They all already love you. I'm sure they will welcome you with open arms, regardless if..."

His eyes find her dangling ankles, follow up her legs and body, meeting her eyes, and the pit of collective dread and excitement that _this is it_ settles heavy in his throat. Faunia waits so patiently with her beaten hands folded in her lap, so kindly with her soft beautiful eyes, willing to sit there and wait eternity for his reply despite the discomfort of her chest plate and prying family.

Jaal looks at this young woman, with her hardened heart having softened just for him, and knows he only ever wants to be where ever she is.

"Regardless if you'll have me," It comes as a whisper, a breath he strangled so long he releases it as weak and helpless, but regardless it brings light to her eyes like an exploding star. “You... make my heart sing. I want us to be together.”

He struggles to not sound so absolutely nervous, something in his chest shaking with the fear that he misunderstood their relationship, that she doesn’t feel the same, that _he’s absolutely infatuated and has to ask anyway_. With the teasing tone of his family, and his running mouth telling this girl he’s trying to impress embarrassing secrets--Well, this moment is than what he's imagined, but seeing her here… Her small form sitting next to him in his childhood bed, the sweet and shy reddening of her cheeks and the gentle inhale of her breath, the way her gaze holds his bravely despite her flustering. He knows Faunia in a way she’s shown to no one else. He knows of her self-hatred, knows her history of mistreatment, knows that she’s not used to kind words and affection, knows that it brings a different side out of the brazen woman that’s timid and unsure, knows that he has to be patient.

Knows that she deserves every second of it.

He hangs onto every beat of silence from this beautiful, courageous, miraculous alien from the past that he’s grown so fond of, and he’ll wait for an eternity more for her answer, despite the swell of anxiety in his chest that grows with every second. How agonizing and overwhelming and wonderful it is, falling for Faunia Ryder.

But she’s merciful and doesn’t keep him for long, gracing him with a tiny, rare smile. “Yeah, I’d like that. I'd _really, really_ like that.”

Just like that, the anxious swell of his chest pops and blooms with warmth. It’s incredible, how she always shakes him with such simple, simple words. _I like having you around. Specifically you. You’re… interesting. I like to notice._ _Well, I think you’re great._ Inexperienced, innocent, braving against her reservedness just for him. Hearing her say it, confirm their attraction to each other, is like a dream and he can’t contain his excitement.

“ _Yes!_ ” he exclaims, and he’s blessed with an even brighter smile and the music of her even rarer laughter. Her giddiness stops short once he takes notice, Faunia trying to hide her lopsided grin with the duck of her chin, but it makes him lean closer all the more to find it; he wants to drink in every moment of it, of the little glimpses inside the cracks of the Pathfinders hard shell. Jaal loves her laughter more every time he hears it, and the way it reaches her eyes, and the curve of her lips…

_Stars, her lips._

It isn’t the first time he’s had such thoughts, and he knows he’ll still daydream about them long after he’s already familiar with their shape. The prospect only makes him more thrilled and more weak in the knee’s--to think that days so soon to come, he can _kiss_ this lovely warrior of a woman over and over, again and again until their mouths know each other too well. It’s so tempting, with her blushing, and sweet valiance, and laughter, and…

Jaal just has to kiss her. Just has to.

A slow, almost hesitant hand rises to stroke across a warm cheek and tangle itself into rust-red curls, cupping the back of her delicate neck. The biotic leans into it almost instantly, eyes holding his until they flutter to a close, lips parting slightly, and he doesn't even realize the distance has dwarfed between them until he feels their breathe mingle. The moment is slow and nervous, on the verge of something _exciting_ , and _new_ , and _first_ for them, his thoughts racing and feelings coursing despite everything being so, so still.

“I adore you.”

She swallows that last bit of distance, lips moving over his gently, and his eyes fall shut with the bliss that washes through him.

The kiss is chaste, feather-light, a vulnerable whisper, and like a bubble ready to pop they part a little too soon. Yet, as if she's been drowning in him, as if she's tortured by his affection, he feels the sigh of her shaky breathe tickle his lips.

They dive in for another, still slow but with more confidence, just deep enough that he can _taste_ her in this one, and the sensation shakes him straight to his core. It's like his heart, the stars, time itself, stutters to a stop for them alone. There’s no bioelectricity, and yet she _shocks_ and _melts_ his insides all at once. Faunia enraptures the fighter in that single moment, and it's like nothing in his galaxy or her's could possibly matter anymore than _this, kissing the human Pathfinder_ ; the plush of her lips, the softness of her skin, the smell of her hair, the dip of her head in his hand, so foreign and familiar and _addicting_ all at once. Life stands so still around them, like he’s engulfed in a blissful white noise, yet such bliss is so explosive that it threatens to burst his chest open with emotion.

But soon they have to part for air, and he has to rest his head against her’s, eyes still closed and head still trying to make it back to reality. Her sweet breathe still lingers, whispering temptations, and if not for the fear that he'd never stop he'd steal more time with her lips. He opens his eyes and finds his own expression reflecting in her’s, eyes wide and filled with stars and wonder, like they’re both a little surprised at themselves; they had only just confessed their feelings, and already they’re exposing their eagerness to kisses.

“You’re--a really good kisser--” “Forgive me, you’re irresistible--”

They blurt it at the same time, both just as nervous as the other, and both following it with breathless laughter. Suddenly, this downward-spiraling visit could not have gone better, even in his dreams.

The rest of the night is spent showing her a collection of galaxies he weaved from his childhood mind, and sneaking in gentle praise and gentler touches until she’s red in the face, and his family pulling out every embarrassing question and answer they can manage until he might as well be too. By dinner, she's regained her composure, and tells a rather elaborate and convoluted lie about being jailed with a cannibalistic krogan that chomped off each appendage; a trick she uses often when one asks too personal of questions, she whispers to only him, more little secrets to snicker about between only the two of them.

The night drags into the late hours, their duty on the Tempest calling their name and beckoning Jaal to depart with his family yet again. Saying goodbye to them is a heartbreaking process every time--he dreads the day he returns home to find the number of his loved ones has dwarfed--but tonight it’s a little more bearable with the woman that is now with him there, digging a little niche into his family without even trying or knowing. He remembers how much she used to abhor physical affection, scared of how touch-starved she truly was, but now she allows each farewell hug they throw at her without a beat.

How humbling it is that this alien has allowed Jaal to be a part of her life, watching and influencing her blossoming. Timid in affection, but strong in passion. Afraid of the unknown, but courageous in exploring it. They’ll fall in love with her in no time, if they haven’t already with just the wrap of her arms. Sahuna certainly has.

Her tiny hand rests so at home in his palm as they make way back to their ship, and when they too have to part and he regretfully has to release it, she grants him with a kiss to the cheek to carry instead. His chest flutters at the feeling of her lips against the scar there, and her tired whisper that smooths over his skin. “Goodnight, Jaal.”

“Sleep well, darling one.” he whispers in return, a smile breaking across his face as he watches her leave.

A good night it is, even when sleep is too weak to claim him, and he spends hours with his thoughts consumed by Faunia and the giddy thrill of their new relationship. _Relationship_ , he keeps thinking, knowing they had one before, knowing she has one with everyone on the Tempest, but this time the definition has shifted. _Relationship_. His mind replays the first time their lips met over and over, making himself as breathless as he was when he lived the memory.

 _A really good kisser_ , he muses over her simple words, tucking them away into his pride.

 _Sweetness of breath_ , he muses over his own as he thinks of her compliment, of her shyness, of her sigh against his lips, and of the softness of her skin, tucking them away into his heart.

He’s going to sprinkle her with kisses until she’s absolutely sick of it, he promises himself that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter that started it all. would you believe me if i said this entire fic started as a one-shot of jaal's POV when first kissing ryder?


	14. *The goosebumps start to race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jaal gains Faunia's placement in his life, he also gains the fear of losing it.

He hates this.

The kick of dirt and dust on every surface seems to draw towards his skin and cling to it, making him itch. The smell of sulfur encompassing every room burns through his nostrils and into his sinuses, until tears prick at his eyes at the sting of it all. Not even the people can redeem this place, full of traitors of the Resistance and the Milky Way alike, trading a life of protection and being protected for brutality and stealing. Wholly and Vehemently, he _hates_ this. If there was one thing he could possibly hate more, it could only be the _kett._

Regardless, their journey has brought them to this venomous cesspool called Kadara, the Moshae apparently having called the Pathfinder long after she had said good night to him, to inform her that the _insipid bastard_ that sacrificed her to the Archon knows of his ships whereabouts. ' _No rest for the wicked_ ', Faunia had taught him the following morning shift, when he grimaced at the mention of this planet.

"Stop pouting." Liam pinches at his arm, the both of them sitting at one of the many tables at this disgusting place, while Faunia lies in wait at one of their greasy bars for an angaran spy.

"I don't want to." Jaal grumbles back, huffing, a palm cradling his persistent migraine. The sulfur in the air is attacking all of his senses, straight to his nerves.

"Need a hug, prima donna?"

" _Yes._ "

But his friend bargains with him for it. "You can get one when you stop being such a big baby."

As Jaal grumbles with the deal, a tall and slender man approaches the bar beside the Pathfinder, hair both buzzed and slicked back in turn and skin a golden bronze. He speaks before her, casual but presumptuous, as he buys two drinks and offers one that Faunia does not take from his grip.

Jaal's careful focus can't make out what he says to her, but it can make out how his gaze never stays too long on her face, roaming her body with time he doesn't have. He can watch as his boots shuffle just an inch closer, trying to be slick in his dip of her presence, drawn to the biotic like she has her own gravitational pull. He can see how the smirking curve of his lips stays unwavered under her following silent glare, self-assured even as his advances are rejected, and perhaps attracted to her brutality the same way he is.

Liam elbows him, noticing it too and playfully warning. "Watch out, man, someone's moving in on your girl."

His already bad mood has him scoffing at the crisis specialist, because they haven't made their newfound relationship known quite yet, but even if they did Faunia is not truly ' _his_ ' anything. Besides, she does not need his assistance to fight off pushy men, and he is not offended.

"Why shouldn't he?" he asks. Faunia is a beautiful and powerful woman, a miraculous vision, and he'd be cruel to want no one else to recognize it. Instead, the corners of his lips have--certainly for the _first time_ on this planet--quirked in an entertained smile, anticipating the coming punch this pushy man may receive but also... appreciating his appreciation.

Such a desirable woman he's been graced with. So long as nobody is forceful, he feels no jealousy or possessiveness, but pride.

" _Oop_ , no pout. You've officially won one Liam-hug."

His attentions are drawn away as his friend leans to wrap him in a hardy hug, patting at his back like he's trying to fluff the strain from it, and Jaal feels a little better. _A little_. Not much, as the air he breathes is still acidic. But by then, the man is leaving her with one of Peebee's signature winks for her to stew on, and Faunia is moving back to them to report.

Liam beats her to it, playing. "Prince charming buy you a drink, then?"

"Prince charming is Shena," she corrects, voice still hard from whatever past pestering. "And he drank both drinks and left me with the bill, so no."

Liam cringes at that, but the fighter is worried by something else entirely. "Prince charming is a dick, then."

"And Shena is not angaran." Jaal interjects.

"Smuggler for the Resistance. Small galaxy, I guess," Faunia scoffs, whatever was said previously obviously having bothered her. "A Nexus officer apparently rebelled and bullied her way into power over this place. She has Vehn Terev on lockdown and is planning his execution."

That's... not ideal. Things like this are what gave people like Akksul ammo to shoot the Milky Way aliens with, progressively killing both their people with proven paranoia and planted distrust. Perhaps that is why Faunia was so patient with him initially, having been dragged into this dream she did not support. Leaving a perfectly good home, complaining and throwing riots when this one is not as fitting, demanding that the people who are fighting to survive in their own homes--with their depleting resources--share simply because they want it. Perhaps, right now, Faunia is not liking her own race either.

Perhaps, with her history, she could never say she did.

"Well... pioneers, right?" Liam shrugs, ignorant.

"' _Pioneer_ ' is just a nicer word for ' _colonist_ ', Liam," Faunia is sure to snap, stomping out their friends light-hearted banter and carelessness for consequences. They both love him like he were a brother by blood, Faunia more so, but... his over-excitement causes him to do and say things without thinking. He has no filter, like an angaran, but in a _very bad way._ " _I don't like it._ "

"Alright! Alright. Don't gotta snatch my wig," he sniffs, apologetic even though he tries not to seem so. The two of them work together well, thankfully, which is probably why they're so close. With Liam being so risky himself, he is not frightened by the biotic's dangerous demeanor, and brings humor into her life. With Faunia's impatience for the ridiculous, however, she is able to ground Liam to reality with a much-needed iron tongue. "So what's the plan?"

"I have to charm Sloane into releasing him."

...They both frown, Liam more vocally than he. "Yikes."

"I _know._ "

"But... anything for us to do?"

"No."

"Sweet!" A hand slaps against his shoulder, celebrating an announcement Jaal is not quite as gleeful over, as it means he got off the ship for _nothing_. "Surprise shore leave, Jaal!"

"I'd rather shoot my own foot off than spend my free time on this _garbage planet_." he complains, and feels Liam's eyeroll more than he sees it, even as his sunny grin is ever-present.

" _Psh_ , fine, be that way," Liam surrenders, already rising to make his leave. "I'm gonna go check out what kind of contacts I can make here. Text me later!"

Liam runs off so excitedly for someone about to associate himself with criminals, perhaps accidentally join a gang or purchase a product that either isn't real or doesn't work, leaving the both of them to their grouching.

"You could take my place," Faunia offers, cocking an intelligent brow down at him, though there's something in her expression that tells him that they both know he can't. "Shena says that Sloane kinda likes angara."

Pressing the cool leather of his palm against his forehead, Jaal grumbles in reply. "I'm not very good at lying, especially at aliens who took over a previously angaran-run planet, and turned it into _this._ "

"I know," she sighs, not leaving his presence to partake on her mission just yet, but turn around to sit at the seat to his left, backwards so as not to get too comfortable but wanting to spend a moment in his company anyway. "Wishful thinking."

The rifleman pauses some, momentarily distracted, idly curious. He wonders if _Faunia_ had noticed his wandering gaze at all, like her two peers did, the ghost of a grin following the line of his lips.

"This Shena... He'd like to lie with you, you know."

"What?" Faunia balks, as if she hadn't heard quite right, but then immediately answers her own question with denial. "No he wouldn't."

Drawing a chuckle from him, he challenges. "Are you so sure?"

Faunia challenges back. "Are _you?_ "

His gaze does fall to her figure, considering. Faunia is... _thicker_ than the other crew members of the Tempest, slightly round in the belly and squishier all over. Not quite as thin and carried confident as Peebee, or fit and proudly tall as Cora, or firm and muscled as Liam. Instead, the Pathfinder is more curvaceous, soft, telling of a certain laziness in her military training; she didn't want this life, after all, and considering her combat's dependence on biotics she doesn't truly _need_ it either. Why lift weights with pure muscle, when ones mind can lift over twice that?

She does have the same roundness to her chest that he see's on some others--which he's still not sure the meaning of. All asari have them, but only some humans do, so he's not sure their particular function if they are not actually needed. Perhaps it's like hair, and is for the sake of vanity?

And _her legs_ , so straight, bending in so little places, making him question the many joints in his own.

But, regardless, she is... Mystical. Stunning him, a realness to her dreamy, lazy curves. A gracefulness to her straightened legs, shorter than any angara's, but lying so long. "I find you mesmerizing. Fascinating and exquisite. There's no doubt in my mind that others see the beauty of your figure and features, just as I do."

"...Oh," Even with their new relationship, even with their deeper familiarity, Jaal can still make her blush, lighting Kadara's blackened heart with her reddened radiance. "Well... Thank you."

She does not deny, and his grin broadens.

The corners of her own lovely mouth quirk in a hint of a smile, bemused and huffing. " _What?_ "

"You did not shy away from my compliment," he says, reaching and grasping her hand by her tiny fingers, with a delicacy she far surpasses but he feels is much needed. Even though she flushes at his openness, even though she feels somewhat embarrassed by his compliments, even though her self-loathing runs so deep, none of those things hold any power over her for once. "I'm proud."

She blushes with humbleness, but her smile is bright with flattery, and very very real. "You're too good to me, you know."

"There's no such thing."

Her head shakes, but as it does she still leans to offer two kisses for him to carry, soft and subtle. One against the fingers that hold her's, and another against his lips, but a small farewell. "I have to go fail miserably at negotiating."

"The sooner you fail, the sooner we can get off this miserable planet, I hope."

"Here's to hoping."

As he watches her rise and leave his company, Jaal cannot help but feel that, even with Kadara's putrid environment, even with Kadara's traitorous populist, even with Kadara's poorly placed management, at least it has this one memory to shed some light. When Faunia accepted that she is worth loving, a little moment he can pull from his pocket and reminisce on, every time they land here.

* * *

 

They eventually find the Archon's ship--along with one of the many arcs, the Nexus had apparently lost--but who they meet is more shocking than any nightmare could conjure.

"It's useless to struggle."

He never thought he'd live to see him in person.

"I've been in this forsaken cluster for decades, surrounded by..."

Jaal has seen him in many ways, as stills in vids, as caricatures in Resistance propaganda, as a horrific monster in frightening stories--but watching with his own two eyes as the Archon prowls around him like a predator, hearing his monotone and apathetic voice in the same room as him, and feeling his sights set on him and locking his gaze to his. The air shifts with a chill; the Archon see's _him_ , not the angara, or the Initiative, or any cause fighting his oppression, but _Jaal._

" _...Amoeba._ "

But still, he does not see a person.

His muscles tense with strain, teeth gritting just as hard, as if Jaal can break this trap by sheer will and finally beat this monster until he was but _a wet puddle on the ground_. All the years of vile thoughts he's had of this oppressor, all the choice words he's had to say, and yet they all escape him now. All things fear, all things anger, all things hurt, they choke him now, rendering him silent in his shock.

But it doesn't matter, does it?

Because he could have all the time in the world to scream at him, and it would never be enough.

No words would ever put to justice the wrongs that had been committed, and Jaal's hatred for them and their perpetrator.

"Then you arrive--a human, able to do the unthinkable," he continues, carelessly adding onto his pain and ignoring Jaal's deathly scowl, as he approaches Faunia hanging at the forefront. "You even evaded me."

He sounds almost... admiring, Jaal wonders.

He sounds almost like _him_ , Jaal grimaces, gut twisting as he pushes the thought back.

"Such an unlikely rival. It was almost invigorating to have one. And yet," he muses, looming close, powerful, and for all of the Archon's supposed stoicism, Jaal see's something _mocking_. Playing with his prey, manipulating their helplessness in his ensnarement, so close yet untouchable. "A fitting end."

Faunia says nothing, as he does not deserve the effort of her words, as he does not deserve her time for which she would argue, and as he certainly doesn't make her feel a single ounce of desperation.

Instead she _spits_ in his face, and the Archon gives the both of them the satisfaction of reeling back in indignation, eyes wide with offense and horror. The only thing he and his holy boasting will ever be worthy of--being a juvenile enemy, proven wrong as soon as he speaks.

The Archon is quick to grip her neck harsh in a swift punishing fist, and the both of them call out in a mixture of protectiveness, Liam snarling--"Hands off of her!"

But he doesn't begin choking her, the anger flashing in his eyes quickly diminishing into fascination as soon as palm meets undersuit, instead twisting her by her jaw to further examine her features--like she were an experiment, like she were cattle, like she were a pretty _thing_ to buy and own.

Jaal doesn't see where he pulls the syringe from, but he does watch as it enters his beloved's neck, pulling a liquid from her that's both fittingly and intimidatingly red--hot, like the anger it strikes in him--and Jaal realizes he's going to _torture her right in front of them._

"A first sample. Your testing begins now," he confirms, and the rifleman could burst a vein with how much he wants to tear himself from this entrapment. He'll rip him apart with nothing but his _bare teeth._ He'll murder him, _slowly_ , if only so the Archon will die hearing at least a portion of his screaming rage. For all of Jaal's sickness with sadism, for all of Jaal's support on these uncertain grounds, for all of Jaal's insistence for kindness, it will be _gone_ when it comes to this _dictator_. "I will learn your secret soon enough."

His voice finally finds it's way through his trap body, Jaal opening his mouth with teeth in his words, but a distant explosion shaking the walls seals his lips shut just as fast--a distraction he does not want to lure the Archon back from.

" _Report,_ " the oppressor demands, eerie silence stretching for whatever is being told. He can only hope that Raeka, the salarian Pathfinder, hasn't been identified among the chaos. "Await my arrival."

His bleached, corpse-white gaze falls back to her, stepping close again, and for a moment Jaal fears just her scowl has made him change his mind--but his demands make his intentions clear, bittersweet reprieve.

"Save your strength, human."

"Didn't you learn to stay out of my face after the _last_ time?" she snarks back, anyway, apathetic.

" _Insolent--_ " he snarls, a waver in his ever-present authority, a show of lack of control in his own ship and the frustration he feels for it, until he reels back. Closing his eyes, easing the grit of his teeth, he yanks his air of authority back by it's leash. "That rebellion will be unlearned soon enough. Until then."

Him and his bodyguard exit with an urgency to their step, Jaal watching as the Archon's self-congratulating cape flows with every kick of his heel, and he tries again to move only to be met with the painful strain of his own very still muscles.

"Raeka must have run into trouble." he warns, worried. There's an entire ark to save, and they are _sitting there_ , ensnared in mid-air as the Archon makes a beeline for them.

"We have her beat," Faunia grouches, no doubt trying to flinch her way out as well. "SAM, what can you tell me?"

" _I'm sensing a biological transmitter in your bloodstream now. Attempting to neutralize it._ "

He hears her whisper, curse, muscles at the back of her neck bunching and releasing around its newfound hole in a disgusted shudder. "Okay, that's priority two for sure. How do we break this thing?"

" _The containment fields only interact with living matter. If you expire, the field around you will extinguish until manually reset._ "

"Okay, well, I'm not dying anytime soon--"

" _As you know, my access to your physiology allows me to enhance your vital signals when required..._ " the AI continues, something eerily _sentient_ in the way it pauses, as if it's afraid to say what it needs to. " _I can also do the opposite._ "

 _As it should be_ , Jaal silently accuses at such a suggestion, not daring to breathe as he stares at the back of her head; the only thing that she can move at this moment, yet now sitting still as stone on her shoulders, horrified or offended or angered or _something dangerous and incoming_. Like the calm before the storm, like the slumber before a waking beast, a fearful silence fills the air.

Then, Faunia booms. " _Technology killing me!_ Wow, who would have guessed!"

" _Ryder--_ "

" _I did_. I guessed," she snaps, and though he is behind her, he can see her cheeks pulled back in a likely snarling of teeth. The sheer nerve of this AI has sent her ranting, infuriated, struggling against nothing. "I knew it. As soon as Alec stuck you in my fucking head, I _knew_ it. Someway, somehow, you were gonna--I don't know, gain consciousness and murder me, or kill me on your way to becoming a growing being, or--"

It comes only to it's own defense, somehow sounding tired despite it's machinery, and Jaal wonders how often this happens. How much does Faunia have to argue within her own head, if SAM truly feels her hatred for him every waking second of the day, if either of them are exhausted by now. " _After stopping your heart, I would attempt to resuscitate, of course._ "

" _Oh, sure!_ " she hisses anyway, bitter and disbelieving. "I _hate_ you. I fucking _hate_ you. This is the most predictable thing to happen in my life--"

" _I need you,_ " But it interrupts, and Faunia's ranting is put on hold, indulgently listening. " _To fulfill my purpose as a progressing AI, you must be present for me to learn. Even if I had any desire to kill you, I logically could not, as you dying would be the end of me as well. As I would be trapped inside your body otherwise, you are literally vital to my being._ "

It's not the most heartfelt of confessions, but it is the truest one.

The AI experiences all the things that Faunia does, straight down to her very emotions, but Jaal idly wonders if that's enough for it to understand the burden it has placed on her life. Before being the abuser, and now the victim, Jaal wonders if it can possibly know of the pain it's existence has wrought--the way she does, or if it is just but a regretful onlooker, unable to do anything even if it wanted to. Or perhaps it's unable to even do that, to _want_ , simply a machine coded to _consume, consume, consume_ in an attempt to be more human than she was ever treated.

How that must feel, for ones very life to cause so much damage. To be birthed of mistreatment, of ruining lives, of control, to a girl he's programmed to identify but is otherwise a stranger. Surely, it can't expect her to trust her beating heart into it's cold, mechanical will?

But the rifleman stares into the back of her red head as she's still silent, unmoving, her ire having evaporated into nothing as she frighteningly listens to this suggestion.

"Faunia--" he protests, desperate to stop this train of thought, even as it's hurdling past him. "Please don't tell me you're _considering._ "

She turns as well as she can to look at him over her shoulder, a conflicted furrow in her brow. "Is there any other option?"

It gives a long pause, as if searching, as if it doesn't want this either, but the wasted time and effort proves fruitless. " _None that I can determine._ "

"...Fuck my life," she curses, head dropping low, and Jaal can only pray to whatever deity or powerful force that rules their lives to _take him instead_. Their relationship had just started, Faunia was only beginning to taste the joys of life, over 600 years to finally laugh and smile and _be happy--_ "I cannot tell you how much trust you're getting that you don't deserve."

But, whatever is out there, it isn't listening.

It simply watches on as war assumes the reigns, taking, and taking, and taking, forever hungry.

"Stopping your heart--"

The pregnant quiet strangles him with his own panic, calmly killing him. _No. No--_

" _\--Now._ "

Faunia clatters to the floor, like a broken toy, loudly and clumsily and _lifelessly_ , and Jaal feels his entire soul drop with her.

His mind cruelly tricks him despite the warning that this was to happen, making him expect her to groan, curse, _move just move_ in pain from being thrown to the floor, as she's always done when she's fallen. But she doesn't.

The love of his life simply lies before his feet, nothing but a mere body.

Gone, in the blink of an eye.

Quickly and silently _dead._

"SAM?" Liam persists, insistent, rightfully impatient.

" _Stimulating the cardiovascular core._ "

All his blood runs cold, all his thoughts shatter, all his breathe stills, and the only thing alive in him are the tears threatening to burst. The scene before him burns into his mind, her eyes wide open but _unseeing_ , body thrown carelessly on the floor like a _thing_.

" _Zero activity_ ," the AI announces to further torture him, and his air finds him in a shuddering inhale, heart following his mind and breaking into pieces, and pieces, _and pieces_. " _Stimulating the cardiovascular core._ "

She's gone.

A broken sob rips through him before the tears can even begin to shed--

But she jolts upright, gasping air back into her previously unused lungs, trembling violently and seemingly shocked, and half of Jaal's broken heart tells him to cry anyway. She takes only a moment to realize what had been done, before jumping back into action and seeking the controls to the trap, toting her fallen gun by her side. "That's twice now that I've died. Can't say the experience is improving."

_Twice?_

This has _happened_ before?

His feet hit the ground as the Pathfinder finds the button to release them, yet still does he feel unsteady, shattered thoughts swimming to find their place again, stress cutting off the circulation to his head. _Not now_ , he firmly decides as he bites down his feelings and follows behind Liam, not wanting to waste any more time they could spend saving Raeka or add on to his piling anxiety.

But Faunia needs no words to know what he's feeling, offering him a private, complicated look on his approach; the furrow of her brow still hardened in determination, but now arched sadly. Her hand rises silently, cupping his cheek, and with that single touch Jaal's brave front withers as he presses the touch into his skin. Desperate to feel her moving, touching, _alive again_.

Her other hand rises, and she pulls him down for a quick kiss, a soft comfort to hold him together just as much as it is a promise to talk later. He nods, inhaling with a shaky breathe, duty trumping his feelings every time.

 _Later_. He will have time to cry _later._

* * *

 

The shower does nothing to wash away the weight of their loss.

For every thing that has been given, the universe demands to take twice in return. They saved Drack's squadron from being exhalted, but in the process the kett are already beginning to take the will of the Milky Way from them, and Raeka was left behind. Meridian is now in the Nexus' grasp, but in doing so, Faunia has had her life sucked from her twice now and Jaal's sanity may soon come with it.

So far he's thought her so powerful, so untouchable, so ethereal, like some goddess from a myth that never reached the ears of his species. Coming from another plane of existence so different from his he cannot even fully comprehend, healing their worlds with but a touch of her finger and sending ghostly, biotic armies against an enemy that is so deep beneath her she cannot even bear to take it's leader seriously. It's strange, he's always known her as a normal girl--unafraid of armies but still damaged by a cruel father, shy and blushing to basic affections, sweet and innocent yet brutal and hardened all at once--but on the battlefield, he's... Never been worried. She's proven to do the unthinkable, again and again, and has always escaped with little more than a scratch. While their threat always loomed, it never occurred to him that the kett _could_ get the best of her, like they do him.

Now, reality is so apparent to him.

Faunia is human, as delicate as he, and very very _mortal_.

Liam actually jumps when he finally speaks, having been like a tormented ghost since they got on board, not knowing what words he can say. "Liam?"

"Yeah, bud?" he stops washing his hair to ask over the rushing water, and Jaal notices that though his tone is still friendly and casual, it is more gentle.

"When did Faunia die the first time?"

He pauses, beat after beat of silence as his friend decides if he truly wants to answer, but thankfully takes a page in angaran openness before making Jaal beg. "First touchdown."

Her first time touching Andromeda. It shakes something in him, but how can it not, when Jaal doesn't _truly_ care when it happened. What does it matter what planet she died on, when it happened, how it happened, and what made her survive?

What does it matter at all, when it really means that once upon a time, she _failed?_

What does it matter at all, when it means that she just did again, and there's nothing his presence could do to have saved her? That there's nothing he can do now, to keep her from doing so again?

Why is he still _here_ , tormenting himself with his own silence?

"Jaal?" Liam worries as he leaves the stalls, yanking a nearby towel and quickly drying to put on his suit, suppressed tears coming back with a stinging vengeance. " _Buddy._ "

He sniffs. "I'm--I'm going to talk to her."

His crisis specializing kicks into gear, trying to soothe him with simple words and simpler sense, but Jaal cannot find it within himself to appreciate their duty right now. "Listen, I'm mad too, but she's probably getting enough shit as it is. Maybe we should--"

"I'm not mad," He doesn't think so. He's not sure, he just--Her coming back to him doesn't feel real, somehow, and he needs to see her. Needs to know he didn't have some teasing hallucination through the past hour of his disassociation, needs to see she actually is awake and breathing, once again. "I-I just need to talk to her."

He barges out before Liam can protest with him anymore, skin still damp, stride wider than normal to leave the crew quarters and get to her door. He bursts into her room to find her already sitting on the edge of her bed, hair damp, concern flitting over her features, like none of it ever happened at all.

"Jaal?"

His own name crumbles whatever remains of his composure, and the tears begin to pour before he even reaches her, falling weak to his knee's before her and embracing himself against her lap.

"Jaal? You're still all wet," she says as she braces against his head, submitting to his hold, but still confused. "Did you run out in the middle of your shower?"

"You _died,_ " he trembles against her stomach, tears falling like he's been keeping himself from crying all his life, like there's an entire ocean inside of him that's just been waiting to burst from his body. "My _taoshay_. My Dearest. You've died twice now. Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"Oh, Jaal..." she sighs, sadness in her voice, her gentle touch trying to soothe his sorrow's away. But, this time, she cannot reach his heart. This time, it is not that simple. "Please don't worry about me."

"How can you ask that of me!?" His eyes flash with anger he doesn't feel as he snaps his head up at her. "You had _died!_ It--It wasn't a simple near-death experience, but _death itself_. The kett had wanted you gone, and _you were_. You had fallen from me, you had _failed_ , I--I..."

But no offense comes to yell back at him, no indignation is in her eyes and no argument on her lips, mouth silently closed so her ears could be open. Faunia only listens to him, patient, and quiet, and guilty.

"I don't know if this will help you like it does me, but..." She says as her arms come to cradle his head, and it's only then that Jaal realizes that he had found her just--doing nothing, sitting in thought, speechless and mourning. Just a few hours ago, she had to make a choice between two different species of her own people, both equally suffering and both equally missed. Before she had stepped onto this ship and washed away her wrong-doings, she had also died at the hands of her AI, in a scrambling attempt to escape her bindings. Jaal has been inconsiderate of what trauma's she has just endured, and yet still Faunia holds him, guiding his cheek against her chest. "Listen."

He does as she asks, letting the silence drift between them--except for the sound of a single, gentle drum in his left ear. There, he hears and feels the rhythmic pump of blood, thumping against his cheek in musical kisses, and his breathe leaves him at the sound. "Is that...?"

"My heart," she confirms softly, lips against his head. She is so _delicate_ , her flesh must be so thin for him to hear and feel her internal organs at work, but... "I'm still kicking."

She's so _alive_ , like death hasn't touched her at all, like it has nothing on the gentle strength of her beating heart.

He feels only awe as he looks up at her, face so close he can feel her sweet sweet breathe against him, but Faunia still has apologies to say even as she washes away his fears in ways the shower couldn't. Her hand slides over his cheek, wiping his tears just as she thumbs over his newest scar. "I got mad at you over this, but here I am scaring you too. I'm so sorry, Jaal."

"I've been inconsiderate of your feelings too," he admits, just as guilty, palm engulfing the back of her own to press the silicone palm to his skin. "I've been so caught in how I feel about your temporary death, I hadn't even thought about how _you_ experienced it, firsthand. I... still cannot comprehend. You now know what happens when we die, Faunia Ryder."

She frowns, not disagreeing, but not accepting such terrible honors either. "I don't remember all of it."

"What do you remember?" he asks of her. "If it will lessen the weight of your burden, please tell me."

The Pathfinder pauses some, searching, considering, deciding if she wants to relive the event, but they both know that if she doesn't then it will only rear it's ugly head later. She sighs, gaze wandering away from his as she recalls, but otherwise speaks. "There was that split second I felt myself fall from the field, but I just--I kept falling. Like, the ship didn't have a floor anymore, and I was just... drifting in dark space. I don't think I even felt scared."

Jaal remains silent through her recollection, though his own heart shivers against his rib cage, pained and frightened at the prospect. Jaal always has one foot in and out of religion, but the thought that death was never truly the end was a comforting one, whether there was an afterlife waiting for him or if he was to be reborn into someone entirely new. To think, perhaps, his soul is simply to forever sink into an endless abyss when it leaves his body--

"Then I heard Liam. And I heard you, calling for me," But Faunia's gaze is on him again, sincere, and gentle, and full of so much affection it comforts his fears away and makes his heart _hurt_ with something different. "And I came back."

She came back.

For him. For this crew. For this galaxy. Because she was needed.

And Jaal instantly feels that, as long as her business is unfinished, death's claws will never truly grasp her.

With trembling hands does he cup her jaw, and so he presses himself as deep against her as if he wants to disappear, to feel her lips against his, to feel her body mold against his own, to feel her _alive alive alive_. He needs to feel her wrapped around him, so everywhere he looks, she is there. He needs to feel her breathing against his chest, so that her beating heart will be close to his. He needs to have her _here, with him_ , and not that place he couldn't follow her to.

Faunia is susceptible to his pressings, arms around his shoulders, kissing just as deep. He rises to his knee's, closer still, hands moving from her face and around her body to press at her back. In the tightness of his hug, she arches, murmurs something against his lips, and just the _hint_ of tongue parts her lips to wet his--and he flinches back on instinct, without meaning to, more startled by the unfamiliar shape of the appendage than offended by it's presence.

Rather, something gently rumbles deep inside him, just quiet enough that she doesn't hear.

Embarrassment flashes through her face, gaze flickering down in shame before she forces them to hold his eyes in her own, searching for disgust, asking for permission, wanting at least a single word.

His hand moves around her back and holds her jaw yet again, comforting her shame away with the stroke of his thumb against her cheek, before she can start apologizing. Faunia eases with just the touch, a nuzzle into his palm, a relieved sigh through her nose, shapely lips planting a kiss right in the center of his hand...

His thumb carefully feels across them, first the upper and then the lower, and Jaal marvels at how _easily_ they submit to his touch. How he can feel her breathe stutter as she mouths lightly at the digit. How Faunia doesn't protests to his advances, having only trust when he leans in for more.

He drinks in another kiss, mouth more open, and the way his tongue meets her's is testing. Slow and languid, just a mere touch, to get to know her body just as she does his. It's--more textured than his, round at the tip unlike his forked one, but it only makes him huff and shudder. He absentmindedly palms the expanse of her thin neck, graceful and delicate and _trusting_ , before resting at her shoulder where he thumbs the exposed line of her collar bone. So small, so sensitive, so _alive_ , that her bare skin _changes_ wherever he touches, smooth to evened little bumps and raised fuzz that he didn't know she had.

And instantly is he addicted. He wants more of that.

The heel of his hand bumps against the curve of her breast, however, and her own palm stops the continuing touch as she pulls back.

"That--place is a little intimate," she says quickly, eyes flickering downward to the offending hand, still wary of where his consent is inside his silent thinking. "Just to, uh, let you know what you're getting into."

Heat rushes to his cowl in an instant, Jaal swallowing the sudden rise of drool at the intrusive thoughts of his _very close hands._ He hadn't meant it, only exploring, but he feels his lungs stutter and heart pound at just the idea. "...What if I'd like to know?"

She pauses, still only inches away from his lips, eyes searching his. "Then keep going."

"You--" He hadn't realize how raspy his voice had gotten, the rumble deep in his gut trying to make it's way through his throat, but Jaal stops it and starts again. "You'd allow me to?"

Shyness downcasts her gaze, the color of her cheeks growing deeper as heat rises to them, but again does she speak her thoughts. "If you want to."

Stars, does he _want._

His lips fall not to her's again, but to her neck, where she gasps and leans to give him more of her sensitive flesh. He kisses, nibbles, licks, and as he finds a spot right at her jaw--near her ear, he's sure to note--that makes her skin prickle all over, his hand reaches the soft flesh of her breast. Her body is so _soft_ , so _pliant_ in his grip, her own palm at the back of his only encouraging him to squeeze and massage and fondle as he pleases. He feels the way it elicit's a pleased curl in her fingers, holding onto his _rofjinn._ Feels the arch of her back, plush mounds squeezing in his palms, wanting more.

"Your hands-- _Jaal..._ " Feels her whimper his name, right through her throat, against his tongue.

And, _shit_ , the head of his hardening cock slips through the opening of his sheath at that alone.

He pulls her closer still by her thighs, kissing like a man starved, trailing down like he's under a wicked spell that makes him thirst for every inch. She's so small, so tiny, barley able to fill his arms--but she has so much _body_ , and he wants to know all of it. He reaches just past her collarbone and so thin, her skin is, feeling her heart beat quicken under his lips, and teeth, and tongue. It's beat sings through every nerve of him at the knowledge that _he's doing this_. He's doing this, and even though there's no field to communicate a wordless language, Faunia tells him in different and new and _beautiful_ ways. He can _feel_ how she wants him too, but surely, not possibly as bad as he wants her.

Her fingers find there way through the folds of his head as his lips reach the dip between her breasts, sending a fluttering jolt to his sheath, and he gives back with a squeeze to the thighs filling his hands. She gasps, arches, squirms, as his lips detour over the top curve of her breast, and it's softness is able to be sucked _into_ his mouth--

The collar of her shirt tugging in resistance of his chin sends reality crashing back into him.

She's clothed, on the Tempest, after a mission she just died from, and here he is attacking her with his mouth.

"I--I'm sorry, I," he tries not to give away his harsh breathing as he flusters, mumbling against her, if only because he doesn't dare look her in the eye. "I haven't--I've forgotten myself--"

"Do you want to stop?" is all she asks, but he can hear her panting just as much as he feels it against the rise and fall of her chest.

His persisting erection makes him consider, fingers twitching against her supple thighs, but _no_. He doesn't even know anything about bedding a human. Lexi would kill him. "You are--recovering, I shouldn't--"

Both her hands come to his face, forcing them from her bosom to look her in the eye, and there he finds a dark, drunken, _lust_ swirling in her irises, cheeks flushed deep, lips parted in breathlessness. A tight heat coils in his gut. "Do _you_ want to stop?"

His palms idle up her hips, thumbing into the hem of her thin shorts with a shudder in his breathe and a skip to his heart, bewitched and conquered and so so defenseless.

No, he really doesn't, he realizes.

With an awed shake of his head as an answer, her fingers fall to his shoulders to curl in his _rofjinn_ , and pull. "Then come here. Come closer."

"You're going to be my undoing." he breathes as he obeys, because he'll give her anything she wants, anything she could ever bid of him, if only so she can look at him like that again...

At first, he makes move to climb on top of her, but allows himself to be manhandled into sitting at the end of the bed instead, just as she was. She takes it as invitation enough to make herself comfortable in his lap, crawling against him and straddling with a _wiggle in her hips_ that _must_ be teasing. Her arms are quick to wrap around his neck as best as she can, lips locking, pressing down on him, carding her fingers through the folds of his cowl until he _moans_ against her sweet tongue.

"Do you like that?" she mouths against his lips, and _oh_ , he can only choke and nod dumbly as the rest of his cock slides _embarrassingly_ easy from his sheath. All of Faunia's prowess and snarling instinct, all of the battle Jaal has seen and survived, and what will kill him is barely spoken words driving him mad with heat.

He travels the expanse of her curves to elicit shudders and those prickles from her, from the side of her breasts, to her rib cage, to the dip of her waist, to her hips, where he detours and finds his palms home against her ass. Then she _rolls_ her hips, rocking against him, grinding herself up and down the expanse of his length with only his armor between them--and Jaal can't help but gasp, buck up into nothing, and hold onto her rear for dear life. Does she know what she's doing to him? Could she possibly know how quickly she's driven him erect, even without feeling it through the thick armor? Does she feel how soaking and ready he is to sink into her and _take_ until they both cry out?

Her tonguing slows, beginning to pull away from him, and Jaal whines with the loss of her taste, but she only inches away so far. Extracting herself from his lap, kissing against his neck as best as she can, hands resting against his legs--

It's only when she gets on her knee's, between his thighs, fingers hooking in the straps of his armor, does he realize. Still peering up at him with dark _want_ as she mouths down his torso, this creature is coming for his body, and he wants so badly for her to take him.

" _Pathfinder._ "

Jaal has never wanted to shoot an nonliving being so bad, and Faunia echoes his resentment as she pulls and fiddles with the many straps to his groin. "Shut up, SAM."

" _Gil Brodie requires your assistance._ "

"Not now." she pants, nosing just above the opening of his armor, and Jaal goes frozen despite running so hot. Stars, he can hardly believe it, but she feels so very real. He's only moments away from this dear, loving, _seductress_ of a creature taking him into her mouth

" _Gil Brodie is exactly 3 seconds away from your door._ " the AI warns.

Both of them snap to attention.

_Shit._

They spare but a wide-eyed look to each other before Faunia scrambles upright, and a good foot away from him. The both of them attempt to sort out their clothing, patting down hair, frighten the blushing from their persons, but Jaal doesn't even get the chance to rise from her bed before Gil opens the door.

"Ryder--" His voice catches the moment his attentions fall to him, gaze flickering between the two and their disheveled states, uncertain and awkward. "Am I, uh, interrupting?"

"No," she lies, a little quick, but well. Her voice is forced even despite the rise and fall of her chest, brow trained in her usual scowl despite the sweat just beading off of it, and already is there an excuse on her lips. "Jaal was just giving me another lesson in Shelesh. What's up?"

A talented liar, but one has to be in the graces of Gil Brodie, the master of tells. If there's a fault in their act, he either doesn't see it, or doesn't mention it. "Well, in that case--I need you to sort out a calibration Kallo won't let me do. It's an old one that got thrown off, but he's set in his ways that I'm trying to _trick_ him. Vouch for me?"

She sighs, but relents, having no excuses. "Sure."

Gil turns to leave, Faunia following behind him, but she turns behind his back to offer a longing, apologetic look.

The door closes, leaving him to his own company, silence and cold replacing where there was once heat and gasps.

He groans with exasperation, falling back onto the bed in exhaustion, but it only assists in making his shaft shift uncomfortably against the leather belly of his armor. He curls on his side instead, pressing his hand against the hardness to ease it's painful tug, and sighs his sorrows at the ridiculousness of it all. Kadara and it's messy politics, a tragic mission where his Darling One had died and then reanimated, before arousing himself with her presence just to be interrupted last minute, and left to wait out his discomfort. He would not have blamed her if she worked him up only to stop on her _own_ accord, so he does not blame her now, but... his untended arousal makes him feel petty frustrations, is all. He think he'd be more content if it _was_ her denying him, and not Gil and Kallo's squabbling.

...Her bed sheets smell like her at the very least, and he inhales it's comforts deeply, reveling in the softness of her mattress and the silkiness of her bed. Bioelectricity washes through him, against his palm, stroking him through his armor lazily. Then, he promptly rips his hand away as if he had burned himself, extracting himself from her bed just as quickly. _No. No, no, no,_ he is _not_ touching himself in his newfound girlfriend's room, unbeknownst to her.

Another shower.

He needs another, _colder_ shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for posting so late in the day! life happened. anyway, time to justify that E rating!


	15. *Toes in the sand

The sound of running water filling his ears, he fumbles a little with the belts and buckles of his own armor, peeling himself out of the upper half and checking the lower as he's working downwards. His erection stands more proud than it should be from his person, flushed deep purple, making him grimace at the wet stains he see's it making in the leather; nothing anybody will notice unless they go pilfering inside his suit, and it will no doubt vanish entirely after a few rounds in the wash, but still he cringes at his own messy excitement. He makes quick work of removing the rest of his suit, folding it so the stains don't show at first glance, and hiding himself away into the running water before the door's have the audacity to open on him.

The issue is that 'cold' for angara and 'cold' for the Milky Way is a vast difference, the settings on the handle rearing as far right as it can go, but the water still feeling _lukewarm_ for him at it's worst. It does nothing to make him shiver, to make his insides coil in indigence, to scare away his arousal--and Jaal finds himself taking a shower he doesn't need, his cock protruding between his legs, panting and twitching and wanting _Faunia Faunia Faunia_ , like a damn animal in heat.

...Stars, she felt so _good_ against him, though. Jaal brushes his fingers against the conclave of his chest, the protective structure there too thick to feel his heartbeat through it, but remembering so vividly how quick _her's_ was.

He shakes away such thoughts, inwardly chastising himself with reminders of where he's at, how easily someone could walk in, that he didn't clean himself as thoroughly as he'd like the _last time_ he was in here anyway. Ignoring the challenging ache his groin mocks him with, he reaches blindly into his set of lotions and plucks a familiar shape, pouring a hefty amount in his palm and beginning to wash anywhere _but_ his lower regions.

But, as the soap settles into his skin, the smell that hits him is unfamiliar but not unknown. His cock throbs, and with it so does his heart.

He eyeballs the bottle he plucked, and finds that it is not one of his, words he cannot read strewn on a label and a word on a piece of tape with lettering he recognizes only on Faunia's locker.

Her shampoo. Every breathe he takes is filled with her lovely scent.

There's... no shame in indulging himself, is there? He had _tried_ to rid himself of his hardness, but if it persists so, who would be able to blame him? It's not as if... anyone would _know_ , he decides, pressing back into the cool tile of the wall.

His field crawls after his hand as it travels down his body, and Jaal imagines raised hairs on pale flesh, imagines eyes dark with lust looking right through him, watching him pleasure himself--watching as _she_ pleasures him. Lost in the scent of foreign fruit and slick arousal, pretending it's the smell of _her, her, her,_ naked in front of him, tickling the expanse of his torso and the dip of his waist until--

He brings the fist of his free hand to his gritted teeth as fingers wrap around his cock, stroking slow, up to circle his round head as his hips follow the motion but won't dare yet buck. Would she tease him, like in her room, too much yet not enough? Would she revel in the way she makes him quake with just her fingertips? Would she be exploring all the new and foreign ways she can render him desperate, like he was doing with her?

_Do you like that?_

He hisses, hips flinching, and indulges himself with a quicker pace. The rushing water covers the wet slap of his hand against viscous come, but he can't even have the right mind to be appreciative of it when his thoughts are consumed with false memories of her, wringing his pleasure from him with dogged persistence. Stars, he wishes she were here, so he can have her to kiss, so his hands can fondle her softness--so he can bury his tongue, his fingers, his sex into the apex of her legs, groaning at the thought. He'd treat her _so well_ , making her whimper and sigh, again and again, coming undone beneath him.

Stroking deep into the vents as he pumps into her, drawing long, continuous rumbles from him. Orgasm chases him rather than he chasing it, drowning in her scent like it's consumed all the air in his lungs, bliss rocketing through him with each twist of his wrist. Then he see's her look up at him, with dark gravity-pulling lust, the most gorgeous lips he's ever seen and twice as good to kiss forming his name--His other hand drops to squeeze at himself, rhythm stuttering--

"Faunia-- _Skutt--_ "

He's so, so lost, whining, white flashing through his eyes, stomach bowing and hips flinching as he rides his orgasm into his own hands. Not once has he ever reached his peak so hard, thighs trembling as his cock just keeps tightening, tightening, _tightening_ around the base, so painfully _good_. With the ride of it's current, running water and his own panting eventually fill his ears instead of imaginary moans, the lukewarm chill of water hitting his body rather than a warm body, and as his orgasm comes to an end Jaal finds himself alone.

Still panting as he opens his eyes, lowering his head to find the color of his come already washing down the drain, the hot punch of shame hits him before he can even enjoy his afterglow.

This is wrong.

He came to Faunia, weeping his care for her, and yet he hadn't even consoled her through the trauma she had just faced. Jaal hadn't so much as told her that Raeka's sacrifice was not her fault, or encourage that she be more confident now that she had beaten death twice, instead thinking only of how much he wanted to _feel_ her and wasting her limited scents of a fruit she'll _never_ see again. He sought only comfort through rutting, like so many have done to him, when she is so beloved, so precious, so darling to him.

And Faunia would have given it to him. She would have let him use her body as an object to ease his own sorrow's.

That isn't how his first time making love to her should go. How can he say he loves her, if only to use her like so many others have done to the both of them? How can he claim he cares, if he only seeks to take for himself and not give back? He has to right this, he promises himself, and make it as _better_ and _special_ and _meaningful_ as it should be. He'll lie with her--somewhere more romantic, where the worry of nearby comrades will not sully it. He'll kiss her at the apex of her thighs, despite the unknown there, just as she tried for him. He'll take her thoroughly, passionately, openly, and show her how desirable she truly is.

He'll tell her he loves her, this time. So far, between the dark confessions of cruel childhood's, and the uncertainty of open communication, and all the _death_ , it's made for poor timing. He's feared that he'll come off as manipulating, confessing when Faunia is at her most delicate, taking advantage of her vulnerability--but now, they've moved past that. Now, she's decided for herself that she wants to be with him, too. Now, there is no better time.

When he finishes washing, he makes sure to read the bottle's lettering again once he has his visor on, and finds the Pathfinder uses something called ' _strawberry_ ' in her hair.

* * *

This has to be the most illogical thing he's ever asked for, but he doesn't care. Evfra will be most disappointed--if not totally frustrated--that he's spent his mission wooing an alien rather than studying her, but he doesn't care. The Moshae will certainly tease him all the way to her death bed once she hears word of this, which she will, but he doesn't care.

Faunia is so incredibly worth it.

"I need to ask a favor of you, Paraan." Jaal interjects, signing off on his fate.

"Oh?" she quirks at his voice, face still downcast toward her desk but eyes rising from the paperwork there, having seemingly doubled since the Milky Way aliens arrival. With more people to accommodate and more rations to go over, the once somewhat boring work of Aya has increased twofold, but still Paraan makes time for him. "What is it I can do for you, Jaal?"

"You know of the lake just beside Resistance HQ? The one with the waterfall?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"I was wondering if, ah..." This is it. Where he makes his and Faunia's relationship public and, with the city of Aya being so small and everyone being so familiar, news spreads like wildfire. This relationship, this oddity to his people, will be up for all of both her people and his to judge. "If you'd be able to seclude it from the public for just a few hours."

She pauses, attention finally fully drawn from the work at her desk. "That's a bit of an odd request. Whatever for?"

"Me and Faunia--The human Pathfinder. I'd like to treat her to a date there. Alone."

Another pause, time dragging on until Jaal eyes the holographic clock at her desk to see if a minute has passed yet. The ridge that makes up her brows raise in something akin to surprise, but no offense creases her features. "Evfra's made some comments here or there, but I was fool enough to believe it must've been some joke. I wasn't aware you and the Pathfinder were intimate."

"We aren't yet," he sighs, feeling ease finally rest upon his chest, now that Paraan has not declared human-angaran relations illegal nor has he combusted into flames. "I'd--like us to be, but that is not why I've asked your help. If nothing else, I'd like the area for the two of us so I can confess some feelings. If there's a fee to be paid, I will pay it."

"This is important to you." It's not a question so much as it is an observation, Paraan's eyes watching as carefully as she does listen.

"If this is a difficult request to fulfill, I can make do, but..." He feels a little choked, but pushes through. "I've fallen in love, and I'd like to share that with her in a place that is important to me. She deserves no less than that place being Aya."

"I see." is all she says, hands folded neatly in front of her while her mind clearly swims with her own confliction, gaze directionless. After some time, she sighs, pushing herself from her desk and taking some air away from her work in favor of looking out the glass window. His remaining nerves settle just as Paraan's authority does, this blend of business in his favor finally rearing into personal as he watches her think, and Jaal comes to join her.

Aya's view is... different in ways that were previously unimaginable just a few months ago, the scatter of multiple colors having scatters of multiple shapes as well, laughter and conversation from people that are not his, for once. So different, yet somehow blending in, as if their populous has simply changed form rather than a new one having joined in. Perhaps they did, in a sense. Perhaps, when they died, they were not reincarnated into simply another angara of a different shade--but a salarian, or an asari, and perhaps when someone in the Milky Way died, they came here and became one of them instead. Perhaps, their lives have been connected all along, belonging together even when they're billion upon billions of stars apart.

Paraan must see it too, because she says. "Our people are changing."

 

This is a truth he's known for a while. Jaal once had no other option than to fall in love with another of his own, a woman or a man to hopefully marry and have many children with, before he continuously failed and believed that he'd never find such a fate.

He'd never expect that it was coming to find him, instead, far before he was born and throughout his entire life.

"Is this a change you dislike?"

"You forget that it is _I_ that allowed your Ryder's ship safe passage," she points, eyeing him. "But I do not think people are aware of their changing when they're in the middle of it. Up here, I _watch_ it happen. It's... humbling."

Jaal hums, pressing. "So...?"

"I suppose I can falsify some form of construction work."

* * *

He's taken her to the most beautiful place in all of Andromeda, and even still it pales in comparison to her.

The sun combs through rust-red curls just as the breeze does, even in it's loose bun, and pale flesh seemingly glows under the light. In the darkness of her tired eyes, surprise brightens her features when he uncovers her gaze, a pretty hitch in her throat. Walking along the beach side with the loveliest woman in his life, who allows him to hold her hand and thanks him with the sweet press of her kiss, before lounging against his holdings at the edge of the water.

And Jaal feels, within every cell in his body, that it will be easy to tell her he loves her.

"This is my favorite place in the universe," he entrusts with her, reveling in the feeling of her curls against his nose and cheek, bathing in her sweet scent. "Where's your's?"

She pauses some, thumbing against the knuckles of the hand against her belly. "Haven't found it. It's out there... somewhere."

Perhaps, when this war is gone, when they can finally stop hopping place to place in desperate attempt of survival and protection, when they can finally settle, he will help her search for it. What a blessing it'd be, for his galaxy to give her something her's could not, to fulfill memories she could never experience back there, to give her a life so new that the one in the past is but a ghost.

For his home to be her's.

"Though," she starts again, pulling him from his vivid imaginations, and Jaal catches the sprinkle of amusement in her tone. "I mean, I wouldn't call it a _place_ , but..."

He but mumbles a quizzical noise in return, burying his nose through her hair in a way that tries to be subtle, but doesn't try incredibly hard. It draws a trickle of a giggle from her, and then a bark of light, musical laughter as he reaches her ear and chastises her silence with his teeth.

"Alright, alright--uh, so. After Ellen started all the brain surgery on me, I couldn't go to school anymore, because I was bald and I had this big scar across my head, y'know? I was stuck inside a lot, hiding from the public," she explains, the topic somber, but her voice surprisingly casual in comparison to previous discussions. It's becoming slowly easier for her to speak of this, like it's more of a funny story and less of a waking nightmare, like it doesn't feel as present in her life despite it being so long ago. "But late at night, when the Citadel's lights were all off and almost everyone was in bed, me and Freddy would sneak out to the docking bay. We'd look at the stars. I... really liked the silence."

For the progression, Jaal is proud, but it does not lessen the beating his heart takes every time he is reminded--because the memories will become easier to bear, but their happenings will always be fact. Instead of asking why she didn't run, and shifting the blame onto her shoulders, he instead asks. "Where did you go then?"

"Back home. Always back home. I didn't know where I'd run to," she answers, and _there_ is her sorrow. "Then the prosthetic's came, and Ellen got hefty with the lock down, and I was having enough trouble learning how to walk again, so... But I was still able to dunk my head in the bath and let everything mute out, so my sanctuary wasn't totally gone."

"So the silence is your favorite place."

"I used to live in a lot of noise, with all the yelling, and the buzz saws, and--and anxiety," she continues, sighing. "I don't know if I can ever live without it. Sometimes I feel like my head's gonna pop if I don't scream one out. But..."

Their trauma is very different, and ever-piling, but they're both survivors. This, Jaal can understand. "The chaos is familiar, but the quiet is safe."

She sighs once more against him, fingers crawling from his hand, across his wrist, and to his arm to hold him back. They enjoy the chattering sound of Aya's wildlife, the gentle pounding of the waterfall, the breeze dancing with the leaves, and Jaal's eyes fall shut at his calming senses. His favorite place, made perfect by Faunia Ryder.

The biotic speaks then, and he feels her turn her head to look up at him. "...You said we wouldn't be disturbed, right? Can I show you?"

It makes him smile, humbled and proud all at once. This darling woman, this precious survivor, trusting him so deeply that she will allow him inside her secret sanctuary. "I'd be honored."

She steps away from him then, the lack of warmth leaving Jaal cold even under the beaming sun, but her following action makes heat coil inside him ten times hotter. In one fluid motion, she swipes off her shirt, leaving _so much skin_ open to his gaze and only a mere walking distance from his hands. As her shirt is long forgotten somewhere he doesn't pay attention to, his eyes trail up the line of her curving spine, his cowl blushes at the bunch and release of her shoulders, and his mouth waters at the flush of strawberry that assaults him with the flip of her hair.

"You ever heard of skinny dipping?" she asks as she _bends_ in front of him, thumbs hooking into the waistband of her pants and sliding down. He could just melt, eyes following as the piece of fabric turns into but a useless puddle around her ankles, then traveling up strong, milky thighs until it hyper-focuses on the covered mound at their apex--and Jaal almost forgets entirely to answer, wondering idly if the Milky Way was named after her, in honor of her seductive skin.

He swallows the shameful drool piling in his throat and averts his eyes, clearing his throat a little too loud. " _Yes_ , but--Uh, angara do not have those... _smaller clothes_ your kind wear."

"Underwear?" she corrects as she turns to him, and looking her in the eye has to be the hardest thing in the world right now, with her breasts cupped so heavenly in her chest piece and a mere _triangle_ of cloth covering her sex. Thank the stars for said underwear--such a literal word--no matter how completely worthless and unneeded his arousal is telling him they are. "It's okay. I've already seen you naked."

She's gonna see him far _more_ naked if she keeps moving like that, already beginning to dip into the water. Whatever happened to his more shy lover?

But regardless of wherever she's gone, just watching her hips ripple the water has him scrambling for the latches of his own armor, which suddenly seem entirely too over-complicated. Once it hits the sand and his feet are wet with water, though, it disappears from his mind entirely. He follows her in until water laps at his shoulders, comfortably warm against his skin, and wetting Faunia's long hair into a deep dark color. A soft smile quirks her lips, and as she reaches for him his breathe stutters, thinking he will allow her to do _whatever she wants_ with him, even if it's only steady hands against his shoulders.

"Now listen."

They both inhale, and go under.

All sound calms into a muffle, the oasis cradling away their weight, and everything feels finally centered. Heavy burden's rise from his shoulders to make way for feather-light peace, the ruckus of thought leaves his mind in favor of silence, and somehow this pocket of time is endless despite his eventual need for air. Like a pocket of deep space has met the earth of their planet, endless, and inconsequential, both still and moving, carrying on despite the problems infesting it.

He opens his eyes to find Faunia's still gently closed, bending light shifting through the water and reflecting off her features, hair like smoke. She's _so_ beautiful. It's a thought that's chased itself in circles in his head by now, but he'll never get over it, Faunia reminiscent of human paintings he's seen at the Nexus cultural center; with glowing pale skin, and wisping frizzed hair, and gorgeous broad noses.

He doesn't hold back his urge to kiss her, shifting through the water to press his lips against her's--but it surprises her, an influx of air bubbles escaping the both of them and disrupting their quiet, and they both escape in need for another breathe.

He comes up for air again, but as he does he is splashed with more water.

"You big _dork_. Why'd you do that?" he hears her sweet laugh once the rush of water has subsided, hair slicked back from her face to show off her beautiful features, smile so bright in it's toothy-ness it outshines all the sun and star's. Jaal grins in return, his heart on his sleeve when he says

"Perhaps I am a fool in love."

Her laughter is shot dead, her smile dropping with it as she withdraws into herself, water previously rippling with their cheerful calamity having gone silent in shocked speculation. Then, her brow furrows, accusing him of hurting her feelings. "That's not funny."

That's not the reaction he expected.

He can't recall anything that he's ever done to make her think so--if anything, the crew jokes with him far more than vice versa, even when he's vulnerable to fall for it with his trust in honesty--but there's something in her eyes that is doubting and embarrassed and afraid, something in her defenses telling her that _he's making fun of her_. All that past trauma, telling her he fought to earn her trust only as a joke, and that the punchline is that _she shouldn't have_.

He's quick to reach for her through the water that distances them, scaring away the dark tendrils of self-doubt, taking her hands and pressing his brow to her's.

"I'm being entirely serious," he says again, and though there's a tormented gape in her expression, she makes herself comfortable in the following wrap of his embrace. With her hands gripping his shoulders to keep him close, with her eyes locking with his to find his truth, she knows her heart will only ever be safe with him. "Look into my eyes, and _know_ that. That, beyond all reason, I've... fallen in love with you."

In the stillness of her body, he watches as her mind races, eyes flickering between each of his. With all their talk of comforting silence, of stolen seclusion, of an escape from war-torn noise, it is now her quiet turmoil that rings the loudest. He waits with baited breath for her to find her words, whether it be a rejection or an acceptance or a returned confession, and when no voice is anywhere in sight he's about to tell her that it's okay to have _none_ at all--

"I love you too, Jaal."

But she whispers, like a prayer.

And it drowns out all the destruction a waterfall or a battlefield could ever make. The only sound in a muffled oasis he could ever want to hear, and she offers it to him again, making his heart sing so high it feels it could shatter his fragile body.

"I love you too."

Jaal feels a toothy grin split his face in bursting joy, and with her already in his arms, the only thing that could possibly feel right is hauling her closer and dancing his glee. She squeals, clings, and laughs as he spins her, kicking up more water than ever before. He peppers her with kisses, just as he promised himself he would, each with a litany of praises Faunia could only ever deserve.

"You precious marvel--" Again. "--You gorgeous treasure--" And _again._ "--My dearest, darling one, light of my life--" _And again, and again, and again._

She struggles between her giggling and trying to keep up with his affections, but as soon as she captures him in proper lip lock, Jaal is helpless to melt into her. His hands wandering naked skin, the wrap of two-jointed legs--he'll develop a _fetish_ at this rate, he swears--around his waist, new warmth blooms tenfold with the knowledge that _they love each other_. A single press of his palm between her shoulder blades has her arching, murmuring sweet nothings against his lips, the slightest flick of tongue making him shudder. It's slow, and soft, but not quite chaste, on the verge of overflowing with something new and sensual.

"Faunia, I want..." he starts and stops, unable to keep long from her lips to form a sentence. "Do you... want to...?"

"Yeah," she accepts airily, fingers gripping tighter against skin, and something stirs deep within him. "Yeah, I _really, really_ do. I want you."

He opens his mouth more at that, submitting to both their wishes, but isn't welcomed back with the taste of her tongue just yet as she _sucks_ his own. He groans, finding her metal bicep and pulling her as close as he can, traveling up it's expanse as his sheath tightens and flutters.

Where metal meets flesh, his thumb nicks at a... disk? Something embedded into flesh, rather than a strap or sock, and Faunia breaks the kiss upon his fingers lingering at the cool metal. It gives him chance to look upon what exactly he's touching, the shy of biolights just peeking through her shoulder plate, where a stump should be instead.

To not only take her limbs, but dissect the place they should be. Even when her false limbs are off, the reminder is always there.

Her voice is quiet when she speaks, reading his thoughts, mood already dampened. "I know you said you like my figure, but--it's okay to change your mind. I know it's... uncomfortable."

Her trauma has manifested onto her person, for all the world to see but no one to know the story, and for that how can Faunia not be insecure? How can she not be suspicious with people looking, with people asking, even with people confessing, distrusting of their motives and refusing to be the anomaly?

But knowing she is one.

She lacks love for her reflection, breaking mirrors in times of overbearing stress, afraid of her own hands as if her touch is laced with acid, compliments sounding like cruel jokes to her ears. Faunia expects him to be uncomfortable, because she lives in this skin, and she is.

Such trust she's given him, to allow him the gift of looking upon her, even when she sometimes doesn't want to.

"I am uncomfortable with the history of it, but never the sight. Never _you_ ," he reassures, hand abandoning the cruel reminder to sidle up her shoulder, thumbing the elastic band holding her chest-piece together. Alec, and Ellen, and their disgusting behavior--it doesn't belong here. "Now to figure out how to remove this."

That brings that crooked, shy smile to her lovely mouth, giggling laughter bubbling her chest. "Do you want a hint?"

"I'd usually say no," he tells her, leaning to brush his flat nose with her more pronounced one, playful in a way that's as soft as she. "But I'm rather eager to see you without this ridiculous thing."

Tickled with flattery, her blush reaches the very shell of her ears, before she hug him close--and with the press of her belly against his own, with her thighs and arms tight around him, with the view of the sloping arch of her back before him, he almost forgets his self-given task, rumbling deep at the sensation.

But Faunia's casual tone brings him back to reality, and _ah_ , he realizes this is not a total act of passion and more a way of helping him. "Start at the back."

"That's a hefty hint." he huffs, playfully insulted; certainly, she couldn't think he _needs_ such obvious instructions.

She snickers in turn, and though he cannot see her grin, he feels it's presence. "Gotta know where to start if you want to get it done."

His fingers tap at her lower back in consideration, before whispering their way up the line of her spine in feather-light touches, telling dirty secrets that make her skin pebble and shudder. When he reaches the elastic fabric, his careful examination takes him to the straps once again, then across the back when that proves fruitless; no buckle, or a zipper, or so much as a button. To think his armor was so convoluted to him a minute ago, when this piece of fabric is so small yet--

Pleasure vibrates through him as fingers smooth their way into the sensitive vents of his cowl, a groan falling from deep within his throat before he can stop it, and hands fumbling and halting where they touch. "Are you trying to distract me?"

"What, you don't like a challenge?"

 _Temptress_. Jaal huffs with a laugh, lips finding her neck to repay it in turn as his fingers begin to work again. "It's difficult enough to concentrate with you in my arms."

As she sings somewhere deep in her throat under his lips and tongue, he finds one half of the band folded over the other, the apex of this contraption--could it be velcro? Something to snap it into place? He tugs lightly, but the fabric resists against his own pull in offense, so he tries in opposite directions of up and down instead. Again, it clings, indignant.

"There's no shame in having me do it," she helps even as she's sighing, no teasing in her voice, but Jaal feels too close to the edge of discovery to truly consider it. "Not even a lot of human men know--"

When every direction fails, if not out, then in?

" _Ah,_ " Jaal murmurs against her throat as he pulls towards her body instead of away, and the fabric bunches and gives, separating. "Hooks."

His beloved voices her surprise. "Oh. You--actually did it."

"Seems I'm smarter than the average human male," he preens as he kisses his way up her neck, laying his palm flat against the newly bared skin to feel the roll of shoulders, and her skin pebbles as the chest-piece withers limp between their pressing bodies. "Now can I see you, please? If you'll allow me?"

"I-I mean... If you're gonna be so polite about it." Her insecurities reach her voice, but not her body as she leans from him, his hand supporting her weight as the piece of fabric falls uselessly down her arms. It's with an awkward show of forced gusto that she flings the contraption into nowhere, but still...

He's breathless.

A vision in his very presence. A goddess in person. She truly is like a work of art, only real, and in his arms, and surely the most gorgeous piece to ever bless his life. Droplets drip and roll across the hills and valley's of her curves, hypnotizing, dipping into a little dent in her stomach. Breasts hang heavier, soft and supple even against her own body, each holding a darker bud in their very center.

Jaal wants to get to know it all, what it's called, how it tastes, every inch, for the rest of his life.

"You are more lovely than anyone I've ever know, in body, and spirit," he breathes, free hand reaching and laying gentle at her heart, and it's beat races like the texture that blooms across her skin. He slides lower across his lover's torso, chasing it, and at the sight alone he feels his hardened cock begin to rise from his sheath. "Wherever you go, take me with you."

"Jaal..."

"Your skin, it's so..." He's positively drunk with the sight of her before him, drawing her closer without even realizing. "So sensitive, it... _reacts_ wherever I touch."

"Goosebumps," she replies within a gust of air, quivering, breathe already becoming labored. "Your bioelectricity, it--it feels good."

Jaal wasn't sure humans even could _feel_ his bioelectricity, when they don't have any, something in their biology not being able to register it like his own people can. He tests, pressing his palm against her delicate rib cage, and willing his bioelectricity to seep into her with more intensity. She gasps, flinches, and the darkened skin at her breasts _harden_ in a seducing reply.

She definitely feels it.

He reaches, fingertips brushing across the underside of her breast before swiping around the peaked flesh, and his _taoshay's_ perfect lips are assaulted by her own teeth. _Sensitive_ , she's so very sensitive, and soft, and trusting, and _tempting_. "This is...?"

"That's--That's where I want your mouth..." Her answer is a stammer, and the mere desperation in her voice could leave him dripping and maddened with heat, erection full pulled from it's sheath and pulsing with _want_. " _Please._ "

It's easy to draw her closer, leaning more heavily on him so he can smooth his hand to her ass as he cups her breast more fully, pushing it up to him as he lowers his mouth down to her. He feels her arms wind around his head, petting, encouraging, murmuring sweet nothings, as he kisses the flesh and makes her whimper. It does nothing for him in terms of stimulus, but just having his mouth on her, Faunia squirming under his tongue, moaning behind bitten lips, it's so magnificent it makes his cock _ache_. The hand holding her breast winds against her back to hold her, pushing her closer against his lips, and when Faunia slowly rocks against purchase she doesn't have, he offers the hand on her ass by sliding it between her legs. She's _hot_ there, even through the underwear, even through the water, and Jaal rumbles deep against her as she begins grinding against him.

He feels--folds, through the cloth made thin and loose by wetness, a fluttering of nerves at the tip of his fingers. Angaran women are somewhat sheathed like men, their sex clamped closed until aroused, so is... Faunia already open for him? Bare, and wanting, and wet, and grinding against him, just the thought making him twitch with _need._ He wants so bad, needs so much.

His lips leave her breast with a wet pop, nuzzling against her collarbone and walking towards the rushing water of the waterfall, when he says "Come. I want you to relax when I ravage you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank the lord for futuristic settings so faunia's prosthetics can be waterproof.
> 
> fuck putting all the smut in this chapter in one go and making it super long, we die on cliffhangers like men. see you next week to conclude this waterfall scene ;*


	16. *No shirt, No blouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaal takes Faunia to the most beautiful place in Andromeda, and finally becomes one with her.

He knows she’s far from fragile, but still he lies her against the cruel rocks like she’s the finest of porcelain. Rust-red curls fan out among the moss, still damp, as she shifts and spreads her legs to accommodate for the space he’s taking. Allowing him into her precious bubble, drawing him even closer, meeting his eyes with something nervous and awed swimming in her own.

What a gift it is to be allowed to hold this gorgeous alien, who has offered herself bare and wanting, miles and miles of skin to get lost in. But more than that, what a gift it is to awaken feelings this woman thought long dead, to be the center of affections she didn’t know she could feel.

The back of his fingers whisper over the silk of her damp cheek, reverent and vulnerable. “Is this okay?”

She gives him one of her beautiful smiles, hands finding his ribs and fingers dancing across them, until the air inside shudders in his lungs. Nervous, but not unsure. “More than.”

His lips find her again, his bottom lip captured between her own and sucked gently. The kiss is _eager_ yet _cautious_ , _careful_ yet _yearning_ , all at once, her lips so soft against his own but the tongue flicking against his unmistakable. Anticipation shivers across his field and into her curves, drawing a little desperate noise from her that he swallows like it’s the finest of desserts.

One of her strange one-jointed legs perches so fittingly against his hip, wrapped around his thigh, and-- _oh_ \--yanks his sheath flush against her slick sex. Natural lubricant, not unlike him, telling sweet promises that she’s coated in arousal and ready for him. Their lips part and he rises onto his hands to take in her eyes, her body, her soul. Cheeks rosy and lips parted, soft naked flesh pebbling in the wake of his field so he can _see_ her anticipation. And her eyes, so open, so filled with warmth and lust. One of them is gone, sacrificed to a terror of a childhood, and yet it holds such love, such trust, despite that.

Her gaze is not cruel when she looks at him, despite the cruelty done onto it.

Yes, what a gift it is to be the center of all these newfound emotions, all this blossoming love. It’d be a tragedy, something all gods and monsters should curse him for, if he did not show her in turn what things she awakes in him.

His fingers tangle through wet locks as he cradles the back of her head, a newfound passion waking within him when he lifts her into another lip lock, tongues, and sighs, and a desperate little moan that’s the most delicious thing he’s ever heard filling his mouth. He wants to breathe the sound of her pleasure, wants to get lost in and outside of her, wants to be swallowed by her seduction whole.

He draws open mouthed kisses along the length of her body; her neck, her collarbone, between her breasts, sucking at the dots of water still sprinkling her skin as Faunia rewards him with subtle squirms and breathy mewls. It’s only after his tongue has dipped into the button of her belly and nosed the course curls around her pelvis that Faunia raises her head, visibly shuddering as his breath ghosts over her.

He fills his sight with her sex, and _bless all his past lives_ , drool pools under his tongue just with how beautiful she is. She’s flower-like, weeping, silky petals glistening with hefty arousal, and _oh so_ _open_. Two outer lips framing inner, more intricate folds that lead inside her. No need of coaxing apart, like an angara would have, as if she were built to make love. Stars above him, he could bury into her and never leave.

His eyes drift to his beloved’s face to find her eyes watching, all her undivided attention on him, gaping, waiting, swallowing before she speaks. “Are you really gonna…?”

She twitches against his lips when he answers by kissing so deeply into her, pushing but not penetrating, sucking and drinking at her folds. Her sigh tapers off into a moan, head falling back as he shifts to adjust such lovely legs over both his shoulders, basking between them. He's persistent to lap at every crevice and nerve before finally dipping inside, swirling against walls that _squeeze_ at his tongue, making him groan at just the thought of her wrapping around him so warmly. She tastes of come, and salt, and _divinity_ , his hands exploring the expanse of her thighs and up her torso--where he's interrupted by folded arms.

He opens eyes he hadn’t realized he’d shut to find his darling one hiding her moans in both her hands, arms pressed tightly against her body as if trying to contain herself. The rifleman has only ever heard her voice in the throes of pleasure behind a muffle, in bitten lower lips and slightly too firm kisses. But he wants to hear it all, he wants to drink in and memorize every part of her, wants a corner of his mind labeled as _Faunia in the throes of passion_ that he can think back on. He reluctantly pauses his ministrations as he gently pries at her arms to plea. “Dearest, I want to hear everything…”

With but a shy look, she yields to him, Jaal finding her wrists and pinning them besides her own hips as his mouth falls to her again. A swollen pearl rolls between the slit of his tongue, causing the biotic to buck and gasp. “ _Shit, right there._ ”

He pinches the bud between smiling lips to hear her unbidden mewl; Faunia is unexpectedly _loud_ , and Jaal loves it. But he won’t keep her waiting to his pride for too long, sucking, lapping, humming against the bundle of nerves to keep her whining. She’s so silken, smells so good, so pliant against his kissing. He doesn’t dare close his eyes again as his beloved's insecurities fall to the planets core, dizzy with the shape her lips create as she moans and the tender rock of her hips, his length throbbing heavy between his legs at the sight alone. He’s so tempted to release a wrist just so he can touch himself, so he can come to the way her folds pulse against his lips, and he would if not for the fear of robbing her. She deserves all of him, all of the blood he bleeds on the battlefield, all of the laughter and love in his chest, all of the pleasure she makes pool deep in his gut.

“ _Jaal--_ you’re gonna make me come…” She’s suddenly ducking her chin against her shoulder, closed eyes squeezing, thighs trembling against his cowl, and the rate of his heart quickens at the thought that _he has her so close_. He envelopes as much of her sex as possible against his mouth and _sucks_ , groaning at the taste, wanting nothing more than to bring her to that peak. The rock of her hips turns into a stuttering buck, wrists weakly writhing in his tight grasp, Faunia panting in desperate huffs and shuddering. "Oh my God, oh my..."

The stars shoot in his heavy eyes as her back bows with a choked noise, feeling her ankles scramble against his back to lock together and draw him closer, riding her release against his tongue as he swallows what she offers him. There's something about Faunia at her highest state of rapture, something beyond words, something that has him drowning. Somewhere in his drunken lust, he wonders if she knows. He wonders if she's aware of how involuntarily seducing she is, how every little move and noise has him to near madness with heat, still licking and fucking into her with his tongue even when she's sighed and gone boneless. Her expression twists, hips slowly writhing as she makes a low whimper--

A foot plants itself against his shoulder, pushing, indignant, forcing his tongue away from her. "Jesus, Jaal, do you _breathe?_ "

His hazed mind is sent reeling between solid ground and heaven, reality smacking him upside the head, but regardless he murmurs apologies against the flesh of her stomach. Releasing her wrists in favor of petting at the softness of her thighs and hips, he tries to kiss his way back into her good graces as he makes his way back up her form.

"I'm sorry. The taste of you is more exquisite than any air," he whispers when he reaches her eyes, though the climb results in him having to sandwich his length between both their bellies. It's too late for insecurities now, he tries to reassure himself, pushing his worries away from where they don't belong. "Was it too much?"

"A little. Just... oversensitive right now," she pants, breathy, eyes still hazed over. If she's skittish to him, she doesn't say so. "...No ones ever done that to me before."

"No?" Jaal's taken aback by that, reassurances faltering. For angara, oral sex is incredibly basic in terms of sex, easily succeeding in arousing partners out of hiding and readying them to be pleasured. Healthy even, to stimulate a beloved one into orgasm in ways that does not stimulate oneself. Despite what she's said, perhaps ' _too much_ ' was truly more than he's thought.

"Aw, loverboy. You didn't do anything wrong," she coos, and even in her haze does she reach to cup his concerned expression in two gentle hands, rising to gift him with the press of her lips. His field shudders and his heart warms at the nickname, _loverboy_ , all his fretting falling from his chest, through the ground, and into the planet's core to burn into nothing. It has no place here, in the midst of their romance. "You're just more...considerate than most I've had. Speaking of which..."

Her hand follows the trail of his cowl from his cheek to his chest, then straying from it's path by soothing _down, down, down_ the expanse of his waist, before finally settling on his hip. Her gaze, having watched her work on his body, meet his again in a wordless question. "I can be considerate too..."

Jaal swallows thickly, bioelectrics nipping up his spine and no doubt at her skin. It's a little haunting how close this is to his fantasy, the droplets of moisture rolling off his skin, the dark yet burning look in her eyes, her hand beckoning for his cock--but it only makes him all the more eager to expose himself to her attentions, not quite rolling off the press of her figure but leaning more heavily into it's side. She doesn't quite wrap her fingers around him yet, movements slow and methodical as she cups it's curve, plucks over each ridge, pressing her thumb against the slit of his round head, testing how he feels in her hand as he's already sent quivering and panting. Her eyes are back on his length, taking in how different he must be to her, how inhuman, but Jaal can't find it within himself to care as she finally wraps her hand around him.

And, oh, _her fingers_. Her _wonderful, wonderful fingers_ , already squeezing in all the right places. She draws a hiss that ends in a groan as she wiggles her digits in each and every vent of his cock, fitting so perfectly in ways he could never accomplish with his conjoined fingers. She begins giving careful, firm strokes to him, eyes back on her work as he's left helpless to swim in his own mind yet again. Pleasure pulses through his lower half with each tug, blooming throughout his body and reaching his fingers as they curl into moss, head falling against the crook of her neck and allowing her to whisper sweet nothings. Her voice is like a dream, like a spell being bewitched onto him, as she plays him like an instrument. "You're so hard."

"For you," he shudders back, and suddenly he's confessing. "I've--I've dreamt of you doing this before. In the showers, pretending it was your hand instead of my own."

"--You touched yourself thinking of me?"

He only nods against her neck, whining behind his bitten lips and rocking into her hand, waiting for her judgement. Soon, her fingers card through the vents of his head as well, having him moan loud and buck hard as she picks up her rhythm.

"Tell me." is all she demands of him, sweet and gentle, and Jaal is _helpless. So, so helpless._

"When you kissed me, and when you grinded yourself against me. You were-- _oh, Faunia_. My darling, _my love_. I was so _hard_ , my armor was s-so stifling," One of his hands comb through the moss to find her shoulder, another shot of pleasure reeling through him when he can feel the movement of her hand there too. He chokes on his own desperation, following the fleshy curve of her bicep until it meets with the hard metal of her elbow guard, gripping it in a futile attempt for grounding. "And then you left me and--You filled my every thought. All I could think of was _this_ , and your mouth, and...  _Stars._ "

His lips clumsily find the center of her neck, sucking against her pulse, feeling the muscles there tighten and bob as she swallows and reveling in her following sigh.

Faunia's enjoying this too.

" _Faunia,_ " he moans, his hand falling from her elbow to her stomach, thumbing the indent of her belly. " _My seductress_ , I need--" He can't bear to think, can't bear to reel in the words of this heat, not when he remembers the vice grip her sex had on his tongue so very fresh. "--inside. I want to find my release inside you."

"Yeah," she whispers, mere air replacing her voice, and Jaal's left uncertain if that was truly her answer or her heat speaking as well. " _Yeah_ , I think I want that too."

She removes her hand only to flip it's position and grasp him again, the star beneath him widening her thighs so he can fill the space she's offered, guiding him to her hot center. Only after his head presses so snug, so warm, just merely dipping inside, to her entrance do her hands stroke up to find his hips again. He tries to keep his attention to his dearest Faunia’s eyes as he pushes in slow and careful, committing to memory how her hooded eyes flutter, how her mouth falls open to emit the softest of gasps, to how her _tight, wet, heat_ clings to every inch and ridge he gives. He tries not to give away his surprise--Her sex is so open, so compliant, so bare, and yet somehow silk folds manage to hug his cock tighter than _anyone_ he’s ever laid with. It isn’t long before his focus abandons him, emitting a shuddering groan as he hits home, eyes falling shut and mouth hung wide.

“Jaal?” Her voice is but a sweet whisper, distracted but concerned, and soon she’s sitting up and pushing at him to check where they’re joined. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No.” The denial is fierce, turning his attentions back to the temptress underneath him and beckoning her relaxation, kisses blindly finding her hair, jaw, ear. He wants to tell her how maddening she feels, how even just sitting inside her has his mind swimming, how such perfection almost made him _embarrass_ himself just now, but his words are lost in her strawberry scent and her pliable skin and how every inch is buried inside her. So instead he starts thrusting, slow and deep, moaning again at the suck and pull her sex graces him.

Faunia luckily doesn’t press the issue, melting into his rhythm, sinking back into her pleasure, lolling her head back and gifting him the sensual tune of her low whine.

“ _Oh, you are-_ -You are taking me so well, my love,” he swallows around his words, her previously concerned hands following the curve of his waist, stroking up and down the dip of his torso until he’s purring her praises. “Being inside you is better than I’ve ever imagined…”

Her worries are thrown away as she rolls her hips in tandem, meeting him grind for grind, hands exploring each line of muscle until she's pressing his body against her's. He thrusts harder once, testing her limits, and drinks in the way she flutters around him. He thrusts harder again, grunting, and feels her louder cry deep in his bones. Faunia vaguely nods, encouraging his unspoken question, and so one of his hands dips low to perch her thigh higher and he gives in to both their desires by creating a rhythm of renewed desperation. His body is all her's to do what she begs of it to, all she has to do is tell him, and he will give it to her.

“Oh _yes. Jaal,_ ” she keens as he pumps in and out of her, breath uneven, fingernail-less digits digging uselessly into his back. Each pull back tugs wetly at his length only to welcome him back in with a cling when he pistons back in, drawing ragged breathes, and labored grunts, and gritting rumbles from him. “Just like that.”

The world around him disappears entirely, the sound of the waterfall replaced by ragged breathes, the moaning of his name, the lewd slap of their hips meeting. The loveliest smells of Aya’s flora cease to exist to make room for his Pathfinders strawberry, and the worry of the jagged rocks underneath them has faded into nothing because all he feels is her skin pressed against his. Her arms tight around his torso and her thighs even tighter against his hips. Her breath puffing against his shoulder. Her hair as he clenches a fistful of it like an anchor, because she’s dragging him down into oblivion and he wants to be swallowed whole into _Faunia Faunia Faunia. She’s so. Very. Good_.

“ _Temptress,_ ” he mutters into her curls, gulping for air. “ _Seductress,_ ” There’s no kett, no war, no Resistance or Initiative. Just two of them, his beloved, his darling, his heart, writhing as he ruts into her. “You--You are so beautiful. So wonderful, so _tight_. I’d do anything for you.”

“Show me, then. Mm-- _More._ ” she pants against his cowl, begging, and he can’t take it anymore. He sits on his heels, one arm curling itself around her neck and the other hiking her up by her ass, and speeds his rhythm into erratic. His toes curl, his eyes roll behind his eyelids, as Faunia gasps and arches and clenches beneath him, moans loud and unbidden. He doesn’t know how, but she somehow manages to become even _tighter_ around his cock until each slap of skin rockets pleasure up his spine, building, and building, and building like a rising wave that’s making a beeline to crashing.

So desperate. He's so deeply desperate. “Faunia, you make me see stars. I want-- _I need to come--_ ”

“ _\--Me too._ Oh, me too. I'm so close, Jaal, _please._ ”

Focusing on anything in this moment has to be the hardest thing he’s ever done, but still he struggles to open his eyes because he has to see it again; his one and only coming undone to the ram of his hips, in his arms. The forever ‘o’ of beautiful, kiss-swollen lips, the squeezing shutter of her eyes, the flush of rose against her pale cheeks, the dishevel of her hair that tells tales of being wrecked by him. He curses at the sight, his rhythm stuttering--

Then she cries his name in a broken sob and bows her back until she’s so flushed against him not even the thinnest of air could squeeze through and _skutting stars,_ the supple flesh of her breasts and stomach and the insistent press of her hips has him spilling himself inside her, long and hard. Euphoria blossoms and hugs every inch of his skin, and Jaal thinks he can go on like this forever, lost in the wave washing over him as he groans. He doesn't know how long it lasts, but it feels like eternity as their rocking drags the current on, and on, _and on_ , until the sensation rears into _too much_ and he begins shaking with hypersensitivity. His hand slides up the soft curve of her ass and grips her hip, stilling her so he can force himself to pull away.

All life comes back to his senses once her warmth leaves him; Aya, the blood pumping in his ears, the rush of water behind him, along with it’s cool spray against his heated skin. Somewhere among the haze of the afterglow, he absentmindedly reminds himself not to topple over his dearest, but finds stubborn limbs keeping hold of him when he tries to roll off.

He finally opens his eyes, speaking through labored breathes. “I don’t want to crush you.”

“I don’t care,” The words are but a sweet whisper, and the smile she gives weakens him all over again. Jaal submits to her gentle grip in an instant, lowering his weight to settle on top of her like a blanket. “Just let me hold you.”

And she does, hands petting across his boneless form, eyes closed as she traces the scar of his cowl with her lips. So gentle, so reverent. The sudden silence is almost dumbfounding compared to how… _forceful_ he was being just mere seconds ago, and though she voiced her _very loud approval_ , the claws of self-consciousness suddenly grip him. “I’m sorry for my, er… _eagerness_. I have not hurt you? I was satisfactory?”

“I like your eagerness," she mutters, gentle kisses turning into a smile against his cowl. "Pretty sure you just ruined me for anyone else, though."

He’s not certain what that sentence means, but he doesn’t like the words used in it. “Ruined?”

“It means that if I were to sleep with anyone else at all, it wouldn’t be able to compare to this. I'd be too busy thinking how good _you_ are,” The flattery hits him in a warm blush, unable to contain the proud grin that breaks across his face. Ruined. Utterly wrecked by him. Setting her expectations so high, she doesn't dare think of anyone else being able to meet them. It's a sort of praise he's not certain he deserves, but Faunia always makes him feel worthy of it, wrapping her arms around him tighter as her tone grows more sober. “I don’t think I’m going to be in anyone else’s bed for a good long while, though. I think..."

He feels the soft rise and fall of her chest against his own, breathing him in as she cradles him close, and Jaal's helpless heart aches with how much _love_ he feels in such a subtle movement. Faunia tells her truth like she is so tortured, so vulnerable, so suffocated, and Jaal cannot ask for anything better, because he feels it too.

"I think I want to stay right here."

Stricken by a radiance he's never known possible, suddenly so obsessed with a smile and the way it reaches her eyes, needing so bad for her joy like it's all the sleep and the air and the gravity in his life. The plummet can be frightening, having nothing to hold onto but each other, but Jaal has no desire to ever be on solid ground again. How far they've come from when he first saw her.

"I love you," he whispers, scooping his arm under her form to hug her just as close. "With everything that I am. With all that I have. I know that's not much, but--"

"Hey," she chastises gently, _lovingly_ , just as silent as she pushes his form up to make him look her in the eye. Which is an easy feat, making him look into her eyes. "That's more than enough. All the--the princely bastards and pretty handmaidens I could've ever dreamed up," she scoffs, but still smiles, her palms smoothing over his shoulders and cradling his face like he's the most precious thing ever held. "And none of them could compare to you."

Tears prick at the corner of his eyes, and though none spill, she still beckons them away with but the gentle wipe of her thumb. He's ruined her in more ways than one, and the amount of love that makes him feel has him pressing down on her, kissing her again. He can only show his appreciation, his honor, the only way he can think of. Not the only way he knows, but the only way he can think of, with her thighs still pressing against his bare hips and the little hum of pleasure she sings in her throat.

"Can we...?" he murmurs against her lips, unwilling to stop even between words. "Again?"

She grins against him in turn, her legs hooking more confidently around the bend of his own, and Jaal is home. "Again."

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the cliffhanger in the last chapter ya'll ;*
> 
> it's honestly been a long, long time since i've really written and posted smut. thank you domino, my best and most cherished friend, for beta reading this for me despite not even being into mass effect.
> 
> (fun fact: faunia's bra is absolutely lost forever. they couldn't find it.)
> 
> (EDIT for those who check regularly: Need another day or two to finish up this next chapter! Don't worry, I haven't forgotten!)


	17. *She knows what I think about

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frederic Ryder has woken up from his coma, and Jaal battles between making a good impression as his sister's boyfriend and making him pay.

Some day, they'll calm down.

They've been rather, er... _energetic_ since they've laid together, like a long unwanted hurdle has been passed, and they must make up for the time they wasted waiting behind it. This past week of finding turian pods either emptied or serving as a coffin, Jaal learns what a belly button is and that it is now useless, other than making Faunia laugh when his tongue lingers over it. And when finding the asari arc along with it's scandals and headaches, Faunia makes them disappear by teaching him that the pearl between her legs is actually called a _clitoris_ , and how it's use is only for love-making, how many nerves it has, and how it will become Jaal's new favorite part of Faunia's sex.

Some day, when they are not so new to each other, they will not try so hard to put off work in favor of sex. Some day, when the excitement of surprise no longer accompanies the excitement of each other, each mission will not conclude in one of their rooms. Some day, they will have already learned every inch of the other, and their eagerness to know it all will have faded.

But now, when he's passing Faunia in the hall and she gives him a playful smile that makes him stop and stare, when they're sneaking sensual pinches every time they're in close proximity of each other, and giggling like children during foreplay, Jaal wouldn't rather be anywhere else. They're riding on the high of _new_ that will no doubt settle into the comfort of _old_ , he knows, but they only get so many firsts. He's delighted to be surprised, while he still can be.

"I have to go to a meeting." she chastises between kisses, but makes no move to remove her hands from his ass, much less to leave his arms. In her defense, he's been pressing her against the wall of this dimly lit hallway since they docked, stealing away time meant for work to grope and kiss instead.

"Just a moment more." he hums even still, hands tickling under her shirt to make her blush and squirm. He won't make assumptions, but Faunia's _especially_ receptive when they're in a place more public, as if she's as much of a risk-taker in the bed as she is on the field. For a Resistance fighter that moves from place to place, it's hard to find a place to rut without the danger of comrades lingering eyes, but the thought is much more _appealing_ when it excites his new lover...

" _Mm_ , you're gonna make a mess out of me..."

"Is that supposed to discourage me?" he rumbles, remembering the muss of her hair, the desperate flush in her cheeks, telling tales of how wrecked he leaves her. "I rather _like_ that idea..."

He feels her thighs attempt to squeeze together beneath his own, but with a punishing nip to his lip and a smirk, she leaves them both high and dry--which he doesn't mind, something to look forward to later. " _Fresh._ But, really, I think Addison's head will blow if I don't show up soon."

Even though he huffs with disappointment, and even though he must force himself to peel away from her warmth, Jaal still smiles as he smooths over her clothing and rights her hair. "We're kissing and you bring up Addison?"

She grins back, eyes flickering with mischief. "I could have brought up Tann."

"A simple 'no' will suffice, _taoshay._ "

"I don't think I could ever tell you that," she hums gently, and despite her earlier protests, she easily rises from the wall and back to him for one more kiss. Chaste, light, a promise tucked against his lips. "We'll continue this later?"

He takes her hand, and holds it against his full heart, feeling only warmth and love despite it's lack of pulse. "I shall wait with baited breath."

She snorts in reply though, saying something that makes his translator glitch. " _Corndog._ "

"And what is that?"

"Means you're ridiculous," she answers with only affection, thumb brushing in little motions where her hand lies. "And I love you for it."

Ah, the loveliest translator glitch of all, he thinks with a smile.

He thinks he'll go back to the Cultural Center to study up on Milky Way culture in her absence, but as he watches her leave his presence with a more cheerful sway to her hips rather than her usual dreading march, it's hard not to follow after the holder of his heart.

* * *

 

Jaal spends a good hour enthralled in the nature of Earth, a hefty weight of knowledge that promises his future many headaches. Humanity has more cultures on their _lone planet_ than he could ever process, having died and evolved again over generations upon generations, each with different Gods, foods, clothes, languages and _separate grammar_ for those languages. Even animals tied to their many regions, despite the fact that nature does not give in to their beliefs, one in particular catching his eye.

 _Fox_ , an ancient red-haired creature, both holding the strength of a predator and the timidness of prey. Representation of cunning, mischief, and sometimes seduction. _Vixen_ , another word for it. Jaal silently smiles, reminded of his lover.

And, just like Faunia to be beckoned to those who think of her, he hears the doors open and see's out of the corner of his eye the sway of red-hair. His attentions to his studies are forgotten entirely, beginning to stray to her, but quickly does he read something wrong in her stance--his beloved entering before halting entirely, turning in a half-thought and halting again, needing to move but not sure where. Pacing, a fist in her hair, distressed and uncertain.

"Faunia?" On approach, he calls her attentions, and her nerves are run so shot she nearly jumps from her skeleton. Something is wrong, indeed. "Dearest, what is the matter?"

"Nothing," she shoots off at the mouth nervously, habitually hiding her feelings from him, but thankfully her trust in him has her spilling the truth just as quickly. "Or--everything, I guess."

"Did your meeting not go well?" he asks, though the thought alone still confuses him, creasing his brow in a furrow. What could they have possibly said to have shaken up his lover so, especially when she values their opinion so little, especially when she is so uncaring of the politics and elbow-rubbing that comes with being the Pathfinder?

"No. I mean, _it didn't_ , but..." She clenches her own fist, thumbing the armored knuckles of her prosthetic, before confessing what has her blood racing so. "Freddy is awake."

Oh.

Her brother.

The one remaining family of Alec and Ellen's terror, finally rearing his ugly head. Jaal's been so caught up in their newfound happiness, he was fool enough to forget that Frederic actually joined her on this voyage, leading Jaal to believe all of Faunia's history was beginning to lose her in it's chase. But, just when he thinks him and his beloved can finally find some calm and joy in this unforgiving universe, it has suddenly caught her by the ankles.

"They told me to go, so I did," she stammers. "But I don't know what to do. This is so public, and I visited so much. Everyone's going to be expecting some-- _big reunion_ , but I don't know how to talk to him now that he's _awake._ "

He fills his palms with her delicate shoulders, anchoring her with his reassurance."I know you may want to see little of him, but if you truly feel the need to make appearances, suffering through a simple check-up will do. You do not even have to maintain conversation, if you don't want."

"No, I--I _need_ to see him, but last time we spoke I... I told him Alec died, and," his _taoshay_ confesses, voice cracking under the pressure of her sorrows. "I hurt him."

It's not fear that has her pulled in every direction, with no sight of where each leads, but shame. So unlike her, to ever fear confrontation, to ever care what other's think, to ever value other's _pettiness_ and _doubt_. Even still, even with so much progress made, Faunia battles between knowing she was abused but feeling it is her fault anyway.

A sort of determination settles in his heart as he frowns, hands soothing down her arms to hold her hands instead. He will not allow his lover to regress back into that painful lifestyle, he will not allow this brother to stray her from her path of happiness, and he will not allow the universe to prove her assumption right in that it is out to get her. Nothing can ever take her trauma away, nothing can ever undo what damage has been so firmly planted, but all the Star's will collapse before Jaal sits back and let's her brother squander her healing.

"He cannot prefer you to lie to him, surely," Jaal is ever so lucky that, in a moment her heart felt so lost, she came to him for direction. She trusts him so deeply, and Jaal must protect that with everything he has, must be worthy of it with everything that he is. "...Perhaps it is time I meet your family?"

Her eyes light up at the thought, and in them he only see's brilliant gratitude. For a distraction, for an excuse, for someone in her corner. With Jaal there, this will not be a confrontation, a dramatic clashing, another anomaly in Faunia's life that fortunate people do not experience.

No, just a girlfriend, introducing her boyfriend.

* * *

 

It's both fortunate and unfortunate that Jaal is granted access to the medical bay, just this once. Fortunate, because it's been so long since the Milky Way's touch down that most have already been freed of their pods, and he will be here to support his dearest jewel. Unfortunate, because it means the medical bay is being occupied by those who are genuinely in need of check up, which sends a little flush to his cowl. So openly do the Milky Way share their physical state, with the door's _wide open_ even, but he cannot let it deter him--this is a test of Jaal's tolerance to Faunia's life, to Faunia's culture, and if he is to be with her he must accept it like she has his own.

Unfortunate again, is when he meets him.

"Freddy, I want you to meet Jaal."

Now that he's awake, while it's still jarring just how alike they are, it's then that Jaal also see's the differences. No doubt taller, shoulders broader, physique trained toned. Hair still rust-red but chopped short, and lying more straight against his twin's curls, with a patch of facial hair at his identical chin.

But, most of all, the lack of deep shadows hanging from his eyes, like they do Faunia's. The stars of hazel in the brown of his eyes, lighting the deep abyss, where his sister has none. The practiced angle of his eyelashes, the distinguished line of his brow that hides the hair there; an effort in make up and beauty that his twin is often too tired to attempt, that his sister feels is a fruitless effort when it comes to her own self-image.

_All of his limbs._

Their family history doesn't affect him, doesn't root itself as deep and bury itself into the very marrow of his bones, doesn't damage him so much he feels himself irreparable. At least, not nearly as much. Not like it does Faunia.

Identical, yet so completely different. In Freddy's face, he see's the same beauty that he finds in his lover, and yet Jaal cannot help but be _absolutely disgusted._

Still, he is her brother, and... Someday, maybe, _hopefully_ , will be his own. So, Jaal bites his tongue just this once, carefully extending his palm out in a human handshake instead of presenting his arm; a consideration for coma-laced confusion, a show of tolerant welcoming. "It's a pleasure. Faunia taught me that this is how you greet each other...?"

But he does not take it back, glamorized eyes wide and unblinking, no greeting falling from his gaping lips in response. Instead, he looks the fighter up and down in clear astonishment, before passing his hand entirely in favor of circling him. He's--seems nervous, scared, but not enough to withhold from being _rude_. Frederic has never met an angara before, but neither had anyone else from the Milky Way until they met him, and none of them reacted in such a way.

...His people may have though, he thinks, remembering both him and his younger peer staring down Faunia, remembering the Roekarr, and his siblings temporary alliance with them. Again, does Jaal bite his tongue, joking instead. "I think this is going better than when you met my siblings."

"I don't know," his lover deadpans, staring at her brother's examination with a tired exasperation. At the very least, she's aware of it too. "I'm still considering shooting my brother in the back."

Frederic visibly flinches and goes stiff at that, eyeing her from over his shoulder with a self-entitled sense of wary, as if she truly meant that. As if she's without any sense of humor, and would consider that. As if she were that cruel and dangerous.

Faunia senses it too, her banter disappearing in favor of an open frown. "I was _kidding,_ Freddy."

"...I knew that," he excuses instead of apologizes, voice quiet, turning his attentions back to him instead. It's like they don't know each other at all, but they pretend to, because they're _supposed_ to. "Jaal, you said, right? I'm sorry. Still waking up, I guess. I'm Frederic."

"Ryder?" The doctor calls Faunia's attentions behind him, a sort of importance to his voice, needing to share private information that Jaal may be intruding on. His lover nods her affirmation, but before she leaves them alone, she bids farewell with a comforting hand to her brother's shoulder.

"I'll be right back--"

But he flinches away from it, and Faunia's touch flinches back, fingers curling in hot shame.

Realization hits Jaal like a raging freight train, and instead of biting his tongue, Jaal must withhold his fists.

It's him.

Her parents would not have built something if they deemed it overtly dangerous to their own health, but perhaps to a _witness_ , it would be. He's the reason she thinks her own touch so dangerous, she thinks herself so explosive, she feels such _ugliness_ and _fear_ for her own body.

Twin shock and embarrassment reaches both their eyes, like the movement was by instinct, but still does the Pathfinder give a quiet apology--as if the obvious display of distrust were warranted, as if the fear of her trauma and disability is so painfully justified, as if her brother truly has any right. "Sorry. I'll, uh, I'll be right back."

She makes the mistake of leaving the three of them; her brother, Jaal, and his _seething anger_. He doesn't even apologize in return, for his years worth of paranoia, for his own selfishness, for his lack of so much of a smidgen of sympathy, simply watching on the sidelines as things _happen_ before his very eyes. _Just as he always has._

"Um, so," he croaks under Jaal's glare, forcing a smile before clearing his throat to try again, brushing away what just happened. "What are your people called? I haven't met an alien in... Well, I guess I haven't really ever _met_ an alien. All the other species in the Milky Way came by before I was even born."

His words blurt from him before he even gets to decide if he wants to say them. "You should be _begging_ for forgiveness."

Jaal would be lying if he didn't get a sense of satisfaction from the twin balking at his anger, shocked into silence. "...I, uh, I guess I shouldn't of asked like that. I'm really sorry."

" _Not to me,_ " he growls, impatient with this insolence, and it makes the brother stumble where he stands. " _To her._ "

Jaal see's it finally reach the other, that sliver of knowing, anxiety fidgeting in the green of his eyes as they widen. His wracked nerves finally peak, turning to avoid Jaal's gaze, the letters of his words trembling within his voice, but still he lies. "I don't know what you're talking about."

" _Yes you do,_ " he accuses, fingers curling into fists. "All this time, you witnessed firsthand what your parents were doing to your own sister, and yet you did _nothing._ "

"You--" Stammering, eyes snapping to him yet again, true horror finally settles on his features. "She _told_ you about that?"

"You're lucky she's even here for you. She is all you have now, loves you despite everything that has happened, and _this_ is how you treat her? Your own _family?_ "

"Faunia's--never told anyone about this."

"And why not?" Jaal presses even still, his anger unsatisfied, hungry, waiting to be released and attack the brother, like an animal pacing in a cage. "To save your reputation, maybe? Because you've pounded into her that there are to be consequences, should she do so? Because your family, because _you_ , have frightened and harmed this poor woman?"

" _Me?_ " Frederic's skittishness has a breaking point, however, growing defensive and frustrated under too many accusations. "Listen, you don't know what you're talking about. It's _her_ that's frightening, you get that?"

The thought shoots into his mind like a bullet; _how dare he?_ "She _loves_ you--"

" _Please._ You think that means something?" the twin scoffs, and Jaal _reels._ "That--That--"

"That _what? **What!?**_ " His voice rises in an instant, blind to the surrounding people, blind to his whereabouts, blind to his consequences. Rage trembles down to his very finger tips, like it'll strangle him into unconsciousness if it doesn't release soon, so many reasons on how _wrong_ that is that they scramble his very thoughts into incoherence. So much hatred swims through his veins at these words only said to sting, his entire world zoning in on Frederic, as if he were a but a target through the scope of his rifle. " _Say it. What is she to you?_ "

Frederic does not answer, not wanting to own up to his thoughts, but what he answers with is so much worst. "She's killed _everyone_ that has ever loved her."

Jaal withholds himself no more.

He's deaf to the loud clatter and collective gasps that follow the bunch of his fists in this fiends shirt, blind to the raw fear in Frederic's eyes as he lifts him from the floor. He cannot handle this in a human way. He can't accept these piling microaggression, he can't bite down his true feelings, he can't--and _won't_ \--pretend in ways that allow people like him to get away with it. Such foolish games, such cruel culture, to raise their own to fear confrontation like Faunia does--but her family has made the ignorant mistake of believing he is like them. That, like they do, he will avoid the issue.

Jaal _refuses_. They're going to deal with this problem, and they're going to deal with it _now_ , even if Jaal has to beat the understanding into him.

"Jaal--" Faunia's voice cuts through the storm of his emotions, no hint of fear or nervousness, but a pure order. "Let him go, _now._ "

Soon, the bunch of his _rofjinn_ at his shoulder follows, and Jaal's gaze snaps to find her fist clung gently in the fabric like a questioning tug, but eyes fierce to his as if she'll _make him_ should he decline. Both are confident that, despite his superior size and strength, she is not a force to be reckoned with.

_She's killed everyone that has ever loved her._

But it just proves that that's a lie so untrue, it's unjustifiable, it's degrading, it's offensive, it's so wholeheartedly _wrong_. There is the entire Tempest. Peebee, and Liam, and Drack, and _this_ _horrible excuse of a brother_ , and Jaal, all whom she loves with all her heart, even when they get up to trouble and drive her to her wits end.

She loves Jaal, and stops him from his own trouble, even when he's being a stupid fool. She loves Frederic, and protects him, even when he treats her like an unstable danger.

For that, he will prove it to him. For that, he will drop Frederic onto his stumbling feet, in favor of cupping Faunia's delicate face instead and _kissing her_. Her lips give no resistance to his, too surprised to kiss back, but still simply submitting to the ferocity of his own. The warmth alone soothes the storm of his thoughts, pressing deeper, a hand straying to palm at the back of her neck--

A light smack to his cheek, though not nearly hard enough to sting--much less force his head away--coldly wakes him from his revere, and Jaal flinches away from her lips to find his lover with a blushing frown. He looks around to see the medbay's occupants silently staring at his racing spectacle, starting fights and kissing women for seemingly no reason at all, but their understanding matters not--only Frederic's.

Though his eyes are wide with shock, feet shuffling awkwardly, there is no equal confusion as the answer to his questions have happened right before him; who this alien is, and what he is to Faunia for her to have trusted him with their secrets.

"While you were sleeping, I fell in love with Faunia," Jaal confirms, hardy. "And it has done me _no harm_   _whatsoever_ , you absolute _fool._ "

Frederic cringes, despite that, flushing red at his open words. "Do you have to _say it_ like that?"

" _\--No. Enough. We're leaving,_ " Faunia interjects before Jaal can do further damage, tugging by his wrist and effectively dragging him away without so much as a goodbye to her brother, the Pathfinder blushing and fuming under the scrutiny of the medical bay. When they are far enough away from prying eyes and ears, she pulls him down and whispers low to him, teeth in her promise. "We're going to have a talk about this."

* * *

He's been grounded by his girlfriend.

Or rather, she had more pressing duties to attend to as soon as they stepped foot back on the Tempest, and Jaal is forced to hide away in his room and think about what he's done as he waits for her backlash. Jaal is not ashamed of his feelings, Jaal does not feel his words towards Frederic were _undeserved_ in the slightest, but--at best, he's embarrassed for possibly embarrassing the precious woman in his life, and at worst he fears he has shattered all her trust in him. He had came to support her, and instead he let his temper get the best of him, probably making the situation worst than she previously imagined.

It haunts his mind so much, he cannot even concentrate on his tinkering, much less enjoy it at all; no matter what it does, or how useful, it only looks like useless junk in his eyes. As the hours bleed into the sleep shift and still no fight has happened, he sighs and gives up, changing into his sleepwear to toss and turn on his bed.

But, as soon as his rear hits the bed, Faunia comes. When she enters in her loose sleepwear, there is no argument, or anger, or even irritation, on her tongue, but a slight hitch to the corners of her lovely mouth as she all but _purr's_ to him. " _Hello_ , Jaal."

" _Taoshay._ " he smiles at her teasing tone, but they both know Faunia does not forget so easily.

"You caused quite a stir today."

His smile turns into an apologizing frown just as quick, offering a regretful look. "I know."

"You looked like a lunatic."

He cringes. "I know."

Her judgment takes in his expression, and it must take pity on how pathetic he must look, because Faunia sighs and comes to sit beside him. She doesn't speak, but Jaal can see it in the calmness of her features that she has decided against being as mad as she initially felt.

"What happens now?" he asks. "Between you and your brother?"

"...I don't want you thinking I'm weak, but... Frederic's always been such a _yes-man_. Did everything that Alec ever expected him, and then some. He's always been the better sibling; the prettier twin, the popular and social one, the kid that _listens,_ " she starts, gaze hard to the floor in thought, fingers fidgeting anxiously. "But now Alec's gone. I just... I want to hear it from him. I want to understand why he did what he did."

"It is time for you two to talk," It sends another embarrassed pang of guilt to Jaal's gut, knowing Faunia is ready to move on and he has only instigated instead, but he nods in understanding. "I'm sorry I've hindered that. I came in, feeling I needed to protect your right to heal from this, but...It seems like I've only gotten in the way."

"It's not as bad as I first made it out to be," she admits carelessly, shrugging. "I used to antagonize him all the time. I _never_ let him forget how he just stood by, and then ratted me out, when I finally escaped. I never let him forget how... how distant we got."

He grows quiet, listening.

"We used to be attached by the hip. Wherever we went, he was always there, holding my hand," she reminisces, good memories turned sour, and in her eyes he see's tears swim. "Then the experimenting started, and ever since, he's been afraid to touch me. Like I'm contagious."

Faunia lost her arms and legs, but with it, even more was taken. No doubt her ability to write, to walk, all things taken from her only so she would have to relearn it. Her education, childhood friends who have only known her to disappear. Her very freedom, her notion of home having twisted into an ugly box, meant for torture.

Her brother. Her very best friend.

Jaal has no words to say, no comforts he can offer to that, so instead he only takes her hand and anchor's her to _now_. Those people are gone and long passed, and better things can take their place, if they cannot be rebuilt. Faunia wipes her tears to be left forgotten, and turns to him with a smile, though it leaves just as quickly. The frown of her lips is filled with concern as she takes in his face, knee pressing against his own. "I'm sorry I slapped you."

"Why? Angara punch each other regularly, when they are angry with one another," he reassures with a grin, unable to keep from being a little amused. To think she's worried over such a thing, when so regularly do they risk their lives. "It hadn't even hurt."

But she frowns harder still, almost as if she's chastising him for not blaming her. "I shouldn't be _hitting_ you at all."

"It was a mere _pat_ , my love," he forgives, forgetting her hand in favor of squeezing her knee in reassurance, right above the guard there where metal turns to flesh. So quick to be the guilty one, she is, despite the fact that Jaal's no doubt caused far more damage. "Your concern is touching, though. I did not embarrass you with our kiss, I hope?"

She scoffs. "I'm not ashamed of us. If anything, I don't think anyone would believe me, otherwise."

"Believe you?"

"That I'm with you, that is."

He feels the ridge of his brow furrow at that, confused. They've been together on this very ship for quite some time, haven't they? And such time together is only prolonged when he is taken on every mission, when he is always by her side, when she is the first he runs to whenever there is an issue. Maybe their relationship was a little ambiguous before, perhaps the taboo of their species finding love in one another would result in some shock, but could anyone truly say it was _unbelievable?_ "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know..." Faunia grows shy then, rose tinging her cheeks, fingers rising to hide in her hair. "You're so..."

He tilts his head, as if looking at her from a different angle will help him find the answer, but it only has his lover feeling exasperated in her own flustering's. " _Come on._ "

Jaal chuckles. "I'm afraid you will have to explain it to me, dearest."

"Do you actually not know?" she asks, fingers twisting in the falling vines that is her hair. "You're just really... beautiful. Like, _out-of-a-fairy-tale_ , beautiful."

" _Ah,_ " he confirms, flattered purple, feeling heat flush his cowl. Jaal has never felt himself ugly in any way, has never felt shy or unworthy of his reflection, when it in fact used to be his one good quality. A man of substandard intelligence, of lack of talent, but at the very least he was good to look at. Still, he takes measures for that to remain, with perfumes and lotions--it's not entirely without it's cosmetic's, like Faunia's is. "I've no insecurities, but certainly that's an exaggeration..."

"I hear people on Aya talk. Everyone's _very_ interested in your availability," she snorts, but there's a smile on her face as she rolls her eyes. "I'm sure people look at me and say 'How did a human like that get a guy like him?' Hell if I know."

"I usually ask myself the other way around," he smiles, thumb trailing fondly at the rim of the sock of her prosthetic, and an old heat warms and awakens again. To think, such a powerful woman feeling unworthy of _him_ , such a notion will not do. If Faunia has felt herself chewed up beside him, has felt herself little in his presence, has felt like less of the gorgeous jewel she truly is, then he must rectify. "The human Pathfinder with a lowly foot soldier?"

"You're not so lowly when you look like _that_. You're also tall, and broad, and gentle, and-- _ridiculously_ romantic..." She trails off as his hand smooths up her thigh, palming the thick flesh, fingers kneading tenderly just shy of it's apex. He watches as his touch trips up her thoughts, cheeks flushing crimson and throat hitching. "And...big hands..."

"Oh? 'And big hands?'" he chuckles, Faunia snapping from her revere with somewhat of a pout to her lips, but Jaal only leans over to kiss it. She accepts easily, soft lips moving over his just as his move over her's, and soon they part to add tongue into the equation. She mewls gently, and he can't help but for his free hand to find her other thigh and pick it up onto the bed. Shifting so they are both on his bed more fully, he scoots himself between her thighs as he kisses her, and hooks his thumbs into the hem of her shorts as he fondles full hips.

" _Mmm..._ " Faunia purr's under his touch, melting beneath his attention, but her voice hitches as if she's just now catching herself. "I'm--I'm _supposed_ to be mad at you."

"Let me make it up to you, then, my love," he whispers against her lips, and with the tip of his hands under her loose shirt, she eases, sighs, arches, and eventually lies on her back. His palms travel the expanse of her torso, reaching both her breasts to find them bare, fingers flicking over hard peaks and palms filled with soft flesh instead of padding. "No bra?"

"We, uh," She trembles, lips parted in soft, sweet breathes. "W-We don't wear them in our sleep."

"Maybe so," he hums, curious hand sliding back down her soft stomach, and into her loose-fitted shorts to find there's no triangle of fabric there. Sheath shudders and heat coils within him, smoothing through the thin layer of hair, fingertip whispering over the slit of her open sex, and she squirms even then under such feather-light touches. "But this I remember you wearing. Were you looking forward to this too, perhaps? Getting ready for me to ravage you? Prepping yourself, like a fine desert, just for me?"

He cups her naked mound, and a short pitch of a noise escapes Faunia as her thighs squeeze around his hand, lusting for the pressure even if it's unmoving. Just looking at her beneath him, limp yet so keyed up, not only submitting to his advances but lounging against them, Jaal already feels breathless. What has he done to deserve offering pleasure to such a beautiful creature, a seductress and goddess, and have unlimited access to such soft, warm skin?

"I want to _devour_ you."

" _Shit,_ " she curses and shudders, sensitive to even his voice, and her own hand crawls up the expanse of her torso to roll up her shirt. With unblemished, pale skin revealed before his very eyes, he loves her like this. He _loves_ her, in any way, always. "I want you to..."

With that, his fingers bury between her folds and start stroking, Faunia's eyes only on him as she sighs a moan and grinds into it. Dipping his index just so into her entrance, coating himself, and then traveling every inch of her sex. Like he's tinkering with her, his touch is slow and firm, exploring and searching, drawing soft mewls from his _taoshay_.

She gasps and bucks when he presses into her clit with more insistence, eyes fluttering, head lolling back, and lips falling into that beautiful shape as he circles the swelling pearl. He's unable to resist gulping for air himself, feeling the ache of his hardening cock as he watches Faunia come undone to his fingers alone; the slight bounce of her breasts every time a jolt of bioelectricity makes her flinch, the wet sound of his fingers moving against her beneath her clothing, the shape her lips make when she mouths his name like a sweet mantra, the way her wrecked-ridden eyes stay planted to his own. He could probably come like this, just watching her.

"You're so good," she murmurs between baited breathes, and the flare that brings to his field must resonate back to her, because she makes a gutted sound and grips his bicep in desperation. " _Fuck_ , you're so good to me."

" _Sweet vixen._ " he breathes, unable to help himself anymore. His other hand leaves her torso to lean back and remove her shorts, which is a fumbling endeavor, with Faunia's whining at the loss of his heat and Jaal's insistence to keep his preoccupied hand busy. Eventually the useless cloth comes off though, and Jaal moves to kneel at the end of his bed, before her lovely opening. Swollen and pink, glistening with arousal, his fingers trail from her clit to circle and prod at her entrance, and in reply his lover _grinds_ helplessly against the very tip.

Jaal is not selfish enough to tease her though, and carefully presses his index into her, sigh tapering off into a moan that's unbidden in it's desperation. He drools at the sight and sensation of her taking him in, silk walls stretching and squeezing around the entering digit, so pliant and so soft yet so _tight_ and _throbbing_. Stars, she's so sensual-- _wet_ and _warm_ against the rhythm of his fingers, every breathe ending in a precious noise, making his mind hazy and cock ache for pressure. Like he's struggling with an addiction, like he's under a perfectly wicked spell, her untended to clit stands to the very forefront of his attentions, and Jaal is helpless to let his lips fall to it in a wet kiss; maybe not the sweetest of deserts, but it's taste is _heavenly_ , nonetheless.

She makes a choked noise at that, trembling, gasping, moaning, writhing, and already Jaal can tell she's close. He offers a quick rhythm against the sensitive spot deep inside her, and a hard suck to the one outside, a dogged persistence to taste her orgasm on his tongue and feel it around his fingers.

" _Jaal--_ " she cries, voice breaking on her own moan as her hand finds the back of his head, each thrust of his finger and swipe of his tongue bringing an eager rock to her hips. "Jaal, Jaal, Jaal-- _Oh fuck, oh yes_... I'm so-- _I'm so--_ "

Feeling her cling around his digit, the pulse against his lips, her sob in his very bones, it sends a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock, and Jaal falls into orgasm as well with a groan. In the midst of the high, he's not aware if he freezes taut in his ministrations, he's not aware of the sensitivity his overloading field brings to Faunia, he's not aware of his own heavy orgasm ruining his pants.

But then it fades and, well, the latter becomes incredibly apparent in it's discomfort. _Disgusting_. Faunia will destroy what little of his wardrobe he has without laying a finger on any of it.

They both having gone limp, Jaal pulls his finger carefully from her to lick the slick off, before finally collapsing against her pelvis. His cheek against her hip, his hands petting her thighs and stomach, he watches as his darling one is still reeling back to reality.

"Did you come too?"

He pauses, mind still too far gone to process her words as quick as usual. "I did."

"Can you again?"

Jaal thinks on it, feeling his softening erection stir again at the prospect alone, sensitivity leaving plenty of room for _want_. A warm, blossoming peak, yet still a gentle one. Failing in truly exhausting him, Jaal smiles at the idea of another. "I thought this was me making it up to you."

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about," Faunia lies, and in an instant, she's sitting up to remove the shirt still around her collar bone and pull him back onto his bed. " _Come here._ "

* * *

"We're bad."

He opens his resting eyes to peer down at her, bare-skinned and sweat since cooled, happily sated and lazily lounging against his shoulder with a satisfied heaviness. He raises his arm to tuck a muss of hair behind her ear, exposing the fine pattern of loudly pronounced colors around her delicate collar bone for his viewing, before resting his arm comfortably around her waist.

 _Hickey's_ , he's learned they're called, but he likes what Faunia calls them more-- _love bites_. Humans, for all their nonsensical language, have a hidden desire for romanticism.

"Hm, really? I was thinking you _very good_ just a moment ago." he teases with the taste of her still fresh on his tongue, and her hand rises and falls in a lazy slap, making him chuckle.

"I'm serious," she argues tiredly, eyes still closed, voice heavy with exhaustion. "I'm sure Addison is going to grill me for fucking my envoy, soon as she finds out about your little stunt in the medbay."

"Hm," he murmurs, thinking, though entirely too tired to really do so. "Aya knows."

Faunia pauses, before gathering her strength to lift her head to look him in the eye, hair tousling and curtaining her face once more. "...What, like, all of Aya?"

"They must," he nods, reaching again to tuck her hair behind her ear, her face far too lovely for it to be hidden from his eyes. "I told you I had my ways when getting the waterfall to ourselves. Those ways will likely talk."

Faunia's chin rests against his chest almost as quickly as it rose, eyes and bones just as heavy as his. Sleep is claiming her too, he can tell. "Well, now the Nexus knows, too. Some people might not like it."

"Yes," he agree's, mind wandering. "Do you care?"

"No," she says, stretching against him one last time, nuzzling into his side, only inconsequential affection on her mind. "Sahuna sent me something that I liked. 'It's a gift and a challenge to break boundaries'. I think, if I had a do-over, I'd just take on the challenge again."

He feels himself smile at such warm words, arms squeezing her one last time before finally allowing his eyes to close. "So would I. A million times over."

She murmurs one last time, already on the edge of sleep. " _Corndog._ "

And he replies back, before the darkness blankets over him. " _Vixen._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slight delay!


	18. I don't mind if there's not much to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the journey to Meridian, there is much heartbreak on the trail, but never is it impossible to mend it.

They're talking, this time without him.

Jaal cannot help but feel a little disappointed in himself, suggesting being her support system in the first place, only to fail so miserably that he is not trustworthy to bring again. Faunia's tries to reassure him that it isn't anything new, that she has badgered her own brother just the same as he, but it does little to soothe Jaal. He see's the deep circles under her eyes getting darker by the day, after all. He see's how she drowns, thrashing, struggling between Nexus officials and her brother and... Well, no doubt her multiple deaths. Faunia is brave and stubborn, determined to succeed in a place of ever dwindling resources, plans, and hope.

But she is not immune to growing tired, like the rest of them. They fight, because they abhor the alternative. They are angry and passionate, because they care. They put all their energy, all their strain, all their very being into this war, because they pray for a day where they won't have to.

And it's tiring. It's _exhausting_ , to have to constantly work up that effort, only to watch their people die again and again. To put in everything that they are and everything they have into something, over and over in hopes that this time it'll work, only for it to never be enough. To put in so much blood and sweat and tears, only to move a single inch, and know that they next day they may just as well be pushed back by a mile. The fact that Faunia must do that twice over, for both their people, for both her personal and professional life, Jaal's heart hurts for her burden.

It's hours later that he gets a message from her, telling him that her conversation is finally over and to meet her in the medical wing. Jaal's a bit wary of being so close to such fragile territory again, but as he makes way to the tram to pick up his beloved one and steps foot into the medical wing, his eyes still scan for the low flame that is her hair among the crowd.

"Hi." another voice greets him instead, and Jaal stiffens at it's familiarity.

Turning to find _Frederic_ of all people standing beside him, Jaal eyes his sheepish form inside his patient uniform, a pair of walking sticks underneath each arm to help him stay upright. Already, he is walking again, but still sick.

"...Hello," Jaal greets back, eyeing the room again for sign of his _taoshay_ , but only finding that each person in their passing scatter is not recognizable. "Where is Faunia?"

"Still talking to Harry about my condition," he answers, eyes casting downwards. "We, uh, we argued."

Jaal frowns at that, fingers twitching with an urge for knuckles to meet skin, with an itch for a trigger to pull. Each time, this brother is given a chance, and each time does he manage to fail. "So your talk did not go well."

" _It wasn't in a bad way!_ I mean, there wasn't any yelling or crying," he defends, but the look in his eyes seems less convinced than even Jaal's feelings. "I think I hurt her feelings."

"And now you think it wise to speak to me," the rifleman speaks deeply, warning, and though he knows better than to instigate a fight with the sicker man this time, that does not mean he wants Frederic to feel safe giving Jaal knowledge of these things. " _Without her protection._ "

"Oh, _come on_. Look, I--I asked Faunia to call you down here so that we could, maybe..." He pauses, fidgeting, looking both embarrassed and hopeful in turn. "Start over?"

He feels himself soften at that prospect, his lover being generous in forgiveness, and her brother being mature in this confrontation. Just like a human to pretend that the less favorable moments in the past didn't happen, but at the same time it is... kind, for them both to offer Jaal a second first impression.

So, he agrees. "Okay."

Frederic gives him a smile, grateful, charming, before extending his hand. "Hi, I'm Frederic."

"I am Jaal Ama Darav." he greets back as he takes his palm in his, trying not to look too bewildered when Frederic seems to pick it up, only to let it fall limp again.

"So..." he starts, once their hands have released. "You're my sisters boyfriend."

"Yes."

"Well, uh, you know, if you ever hurt her," Frederic puffs up, standing as tall as he can with his now weak physique, voice wavering in and out of certainty that he obviously does not feel. "I'll-- _kick your ass._ "

It's an awkward sort of threat, made up of a line heard from somewhere other than his own mind, meant to present an image on a figure it does not fit onto, meant to be something the small man in front of him so obviously _isn't_. It makes it even more so painfully apparent when Jaal raises his brow at it, and Frederic's bravado instantly deflates under the scrutiny, not confident in even himself.

"You confessed hurting your own sister just a minute ago. And apparently have for years," Jaal points, still pressing. So quick to start over, and yet just as quickly does he remind him of what happened in the past. "Should _I_ not be saying so?"

The other gives up the bluster with only a sigh to offer, visibly slumping. Frederic tries to commit to being family, now that he is forced to be all his sister has left. Frederic tries to be a brother, when he's hardly spent enough time with his own sibling for her to actually _be_ one. Frederic tries to fill the role, to be protective, and humorous, and competitive, and friendly, like a twin should be.

Frederic tries, which must account for something, but he doesn't realize it's an endeavor that bears no fruit. Family bonds are not roles to be filled, or a bullet point list of phrases and traits to be represented, but an emotion between people. Frederic cannot present it if he does not _feel_ it, and if he isn't honest with himself and if he doesn't let it come naturally, then he won't.

"I don't have a clue what I'm doing," he admits. "I, especially now, don't know what I'm doing. With you, with _her_ \--How much did she tell you?"

"That your mother is the reason she is an amputee. That your father is the reason she is trapped here. That you distanced yourself and did _nothing_ , except make things worse," he answers, frowning down at him. "That she mourns losing you."

"Did she say that?"

"She did."

"Oh," the brother acknowledges quietly, seemingly surprised, but not... unknowing. "I guess--I mean--She's always _cared_ a lot. She's always protected me. Harry told me she visited all the time! But... It's like she also _hates_ me."

He can't help but scoff, because  _of course_ , she just might. "Would that be unreasonable, if she did?"

"...I guess not," Frederic agrees, solemn. "I don't like me much either, right now."

That sticks out to Jaal, something familiar, something he remembers, but not from Frederic this time.

 _\--and you_ like me _despite everything. I mean,_ I _don't even like me._

The one thing that's the same among the twins; they're both riddled with self-hatred.

Faunia had said something about making her grudges known. She had every right to do so, especially considering that her torments did not end with the death of their mother, yet... Perhaps it has left little room for re-connection. Perhaps, while her side of the story is not wrong, there's a side of the story she's inadvertently spoken over. Perhaps, while she got the very worst end of the events, she was not the only one affected.

So, Jaal asks. "How do you feel about your father's death?"

"W-What?" the twin stutters, stunned out of his stupor and stiffening, grip on his medical equipment tightening. "How can you ask me that? I'm _sad_ , obviously."

"How do _you_ feel?" he asks again, persistent to take this situation apart, wanting to get the bottom of the issue while these twins simply dance around it. "Not what is expected for you to feel. How do _you_ feel?"

The silence is disconcerting and comforting all at once, a deep secret that's been too painful for others to hear finally on the verge of being revealed. Not just to Jaal, not just to his sister, but to Frederic's own self. After a long, dreadful 600 and some years, he can finally say it without retribution. After so long fearing his sister's loudness, their parents judgment, and all the danger that follows it, Frederic can just admit it.

"Kind of lost," he confesses, voice cracking under the pressure of such a heavy secret. "But... _relieved._ "

It's haunting, and raw, and eye-opening to hear that. Chilling, because it's hard to hear that one person can be so evil, that it can drive the most brilliant of minds into savage killing, and make even the kindest of hearts gleeful over death. But, joyous at the same time, because it's gone. Defeated, leaving two souls to wander through their newfound freedom and scramble for normalcy they'll never truly have, not knowing what that's like and not knowing what to do with it.

But there's only one way to go.

Forward.

"Faunia is reaching out to you," Jaal says, laying his hand against Frederic's shoulder to give it a gentle, comforting squeeze. "She needs you to reach back."

Through all the damage, something can be mended. It won't be perfect, it won't even be the same as it was before; their hearts will be full of cracks and scars, falling apart sometimes only to be half-heartedly glued back together, because there is no other alternative other than going on.

But, through lasting effects of their abuse, maybe they can find a friend in each other. Maybe, finally, they can find something to _relate_ to.

"...Okay," the twin nods, gaze tight against his own, and the rifleman see's tears swim among the stardust of green in his eyes. Not much has been said, but the weight of such little words and what it means to say them out loud, it _resonates_ with emotion. "I--I will. Thank you."

Jaal moves to embrace the brother as carefully as he can manage, smoothing the fabric of his back, trying to comfort away what little horror's dread him. He forgives the fact that he does not embrace back with ease, knowing well he's having enough of a hard time holding himself, but Frederic does go stiff again against his walking sticks. "Oh. _Oh_ , you're a hugger."

"I am," he chuckles, pulling away to smile at the other's wild blush. "You'll find most angara are."

Faunia's voice calls warily behind them though, interrupting their ' _starting over_ ' with a suspicious waver to her voice, and Jaal turns to watch her approach. "Things are going well...?"

" _Taoshay,_ " a smile reaches his lips at the sight of her, and instantly does he reach to take her face in his hands, this time with no intention to pull her into affections that may not be welcomed or embarrass her with his unabashedness--No, simply to look upon her beauty, and to try to tend to the weariness he knows he'll see. "Things are going much better."

"Better is good," she grins tiredly back, eyeing her brother from their peripheral as he pretends not to look, eyes flickering in, between them, out, again and again. He's not used to the sight of such public displays of affection, obviously, especially towards his usually anti-social sister. "Why don't we get back to the Tempest? We've got some important work to do."

"Ah, you've reason with the Nexus, then?"

"Not really," she shrugs, eyes rolling within her heavy eyes. "But I'm doing it anyway."

Jaal's smile widens at the promise of that, no argument on his tongue as he leans down to press his lips softly against hers in a lingerings kiss, before nodding his farewell to his new brother and taking his leave towards their newest battle,

But as he's leaving, Faunia strays for only a moment more, and he hears them whisper. "Where'd you even _find_ this guy? I want details."

" _All_ details?" Faunia whispers back, mischief in her voice just as much as there is a smile.

"...Maybe not all," Frederic corrects himself, flustered, and it is then that they are finally something akin to siblings. "But _most_. Definitely most."

* * *

 

"The Nexus leaders think our search for Meridian is a waste of time, but they're not out on the field like us. We _know_ they're wrong," Faunia announces to the crew, once everyone has gathered. "Turning on vaults won't be enough without the heart of the system."

Cora chimes in, offended, indignant, still doubting. "Just to clarify; you're _defying_ a direct order?"

"I know, right? _So_ shocking," Faunia shoots back, side-eyeing the commando with a narrowness that matches her thinning patience. Jaal isn't entirely sure, but judging by their little time together--and how Faunia's tone with her is _incredibly similar_ to the one she uses on Addison--he thinks they may not get along. "Nexus wanted me to bring us home, and now that's what I'm going to do. With or without permission."

Still, Drack laughs, loud and boisterous and throaty, ironically enough having done the complete opposite; where Drack had once held Faunia's role against her, _how she does it_ has him now encouraging her endeavor's. "That's the spirit!"

"And the kett?"

"That's where the Ghost Technology comes in. So-- _and I'm relying on your complete discretion here_ \--" she answers, giving everyone a stern look before tapping into their comm. channel. "Hayjer?"

" _Exactly. Our forged signals should divert some kett from you._ "

Ah. Where the Nexus limited the biotic, the other Pathfinder's band together to rise her up. Jaal offers her a soft, private smile at that, glad that he is not the only one who see's her strength, proud that she has soared so high, despite all the obstacles anchoring against her. Even when direct superiors deny her, even when the very  _best and brightest_ of their organization's are too blind to see her brilliance, her friends, her love, her family will be enough to move entire stars.

Vetra speaks her support as well. "It won't be all of them, but it'll be enough."

"The Tempest is small and fast. I don't need a big window," Kallo agree's, reassuring any concerns before they're even made. "We'll drop you off and make our exit before the kett catch on."

Peebee joins along. "Once we're on Meridian, it'll be a small team. Move fast, figure out it's secrets."

As well as Drack. "Right behind enemy lines. Good time to assess their numbers, defenses..."

"And when we're ready, we'll extract you the same way we got in."

"If we come back with actual's on Meridian? The Nexus will sit up." Liam nods along, determined, but it's no surprise to either of them. It is a kindness that everyone stands with Faunia now, and they cannot be blamed for being distrusting of someone they did not know, but it is _Liam_ that has been at her defense since the very beginning. Where no one else saw goodness, not her family, or her brother, or even Jaal, Liam did. Liam always does.

"So you're all in?" Faunia asks, and though she doesn't show her surprise, Jaal see's it within the lock of her eye's that it's there.

The former HUSTL agent smiles like the sun, and within everyone, it radiates. They've all come far. "All in."

"Sounds like a solid plan, then. Hayjer, you ready?"

" _Good to go on your word, Pathfinder._ "

* * *

 

Everything inside Meridain is unsettingly familiar.

The very plants of his home have somehow run rampant in this dark coffin, making life and overgrowing even without Havarl's rains or sun. Yet, there is still the otherness that is Remnant, pillars standing tall among the growth as if they were planted alongside each other. A physical manifestation of Jaal's chilling _connection_ he feels within many vaults, touches of his kind where his people have never been, tales that half-whisper _this is a part of him_ while the other half is in another language entirely.

The... 'planet' itself reminds him entirely too much of a vault that's simply growing a garden on the inside, except pulsing with lights of orange instead of green or blue, full of kett guarding it instead of Remnant. Seemingly larger, for certain, with panels lining the walls high above their heads.

Except, upon closer look--It's not panels in the walls, but pods, full of familiar silhouettes.

"What the hell?" Faunia notices too, and jumps into action, striding quickly up to the trapped angara and scanning for life.

SAM comes to life, broadcasting her findings. " _Translating... Pattern One-Three. Viability: 56.2%. Genetic template transmitted for testing._ "

 _Pattern? Genetic template?_ Jaal frowns at the unrecognizable words, cursing both his lack of knowledge in biology and their lack of intel in this situation, but still the implications are foreboding enough to make his heart ache. Are the kett not enough torture? Who else could possibly be hunting down his people for only _hurt?_ How much more blood must his people shed? "They were doing... things to the angara."

"Looks like they were running experiments of some kind," she agree's, teeth gritting, heart going out to them. "Just _look_ at them all."

"We need to save them. _Get them out,_ somehow."

" _Jaal. Pathfinder,_ " the AI interjects. " _They cannot be saved._ "

A look of icy anger flashes through the Pathfinder's features, old suspicions bristling to life and ready to snap at the AI for daring to decline, but the drop in Jaal's heart only demands explanation. "What?"

" _I have analyzed the glyphs. These are not the angara we know,_ " it explains, and something about that sends a horrified chill to Jaal's very bones. He looks over the captives once again, and there he realizes there is a hollowness in their stares, beings of obvious flesh and veins but lacking all the life they are supposed to have, as if they were but _reflections_ put on _pause._ " _They are not even alive._ "

Something's not right.

He forces himself towards one the pod, raising his hand towards it to brush over the glass, as if it will draw a reaction. How could these not be his people, even by a technicality? When they share their features, when they stand in their very postures, when he looks in their lifeless eyes and see's _angara_ , who else could they be? "I don't understand. They look so..."

" _The Remnant language refers to these bodies as genetic templates._ "

Silence shifts, a question flitting between them-- _what is that supposed to mean_ \--and then the whisper of incoming and deadly knowing.

"A blueprint," Faunia speaks up with a dreadful quietness, confirming what no one else wants to, and Jaal is _wracked_ with realization. "Like the plants we saw."

These angara were grown here.

All that makes the angara, everything they've been through throughout all their time being alive--Jaal is standing at the very beginning of it.

"The angara, we..." He doesn't hear his own words, doesn't feel himself speak, as he reels back from the lifeless angara's empty, imposing stare. The ground beneath his feet becomes rocky, the room seems to darken around him as all the pods, all these--these mere _dolls of flesh_ , suddenly loom down at him in indifferent judgment. "We came from here? They... created us? _Why?_ "

He's not a real person.

Simply a soulless vegetable grown in a lab of a garden, for testing, for probing, for a purpose he probably failed to achieve, for--he doesn't know. He doesn't know.

Does it even matter now that the kett are taking them, killing them, breeding more of their own? If they are not even a place on the food chain, something that nature has never intended, then does it matter not if they survive? Are they simple weeds, living in the universes garden? After all, their culture, their ideals, their entire history--it's all _false_ now, isn't it? Was it all just an illusion? A pre-rendered code drafted into them, to fool them away from their true roots? Everything they've ever been proud of and built for themselves, but a lie? Have they not even _grown_ anything on all this land, simply taking up it's space?

Has _he_ even grown? Is he just an AI, imitating life, but never truly being? He can't breathe, _question after question after question after question_ beating into him in rounds on his heart, dizzying his head, he's going to faint--

A hand steels him from falling, planted firmly on his back, keeping him firmly anchored to reality and away from the spin of his mind.

" _It doesn't matter,_ " Faunia says quickly, stern, and concerned, and stubborn. "You have memories, and you have a family, and you have experiences before all of this. You had an entire _life_ before you knew about this, and you still will. Maybe they created the angara, but--Where you come from doesn't change who you are."

...Those things are all true.

He was someone before all this knowledge, and that someone hasn't changed in the slightest; his aspirations, his relationships, his morals, down to his very bones, Jaal is the _same_. How can that be?

"...True. And we still face the same conflicts. I just..." he slowly, softly agrees, finding his breathe and calming the pound of his heart. "Feel as if something has _shifted_. I... _need to think_. I need to speak with the Moshae."

Maybe he is the same, but if not himself, then this has to have least changed the _stakes_. Now Jaal knows why The Archon, cruel and greedy and everything revolting, is so obsessed with Remnant and Meridian. If he gets this planet into the clutches of his ever-taking claws, he will use it's beauty as a weapon, and it will be the end of all angara in a single, simple heartbeat; they will be forced to either sacrifice everything that they are, to pervert themselves into their very own enemy and forever serve them, or _die_ and _take all the life of Heleus with them._

Their beginning could very well be their end.

"Meridian creates life. And the Archon could use it to do the opposite. _Destroy_ everything," he voices his fears, a promise in his heart, stoking the once hot embers of his determination into a blazing flame. "It's up to us to make sure that doesn't happen."

* * *

_The Opposition's weapon may cause widespread damage. All our weapons, our ships, will not be able to protect us. Protect my goal. We need to disengage Meridian from command core, which will remain here to draw fire. Meridian contains all the work of the Jardaan._

_Nothing else matters._

_I will send it far. We can return one day. Continue the process of renewal._

His tongue. An angara voice. They replay in his head.

Too many times do the crew ask if he is okay, and too many times Jaal is unable to give an answer. There is many ways this reveal is and isn't like how it was with Exhaltation, in which he wonders how he _can_ be okay with this life-changing news having been dumped on his shoulders, but this time not knowing if that'd be appropriate to say--because nothing has changed, truly. Unlike with the new knowledge that their worst enemy was actually a corrupt versions of themselves all along, there is no new way of looking at the world, there are no obvious opinions and emotions to have, there is no course of action to be considered.

It is simply a fact of life, changing everything that he knows, but changing nothing about how it works. Jaal has been given grasp of this new concept that his people were invented, and has _nothing_ to do with it.

When he passes it over to the Moshae's much wiser hands, she only meets the same dead end's.

" _I see..._ " she says for the fourth time, voice quiet with consideration over the grainy communications line. " _And are we made up of technology, then?_ "

A quick x-ray from Dr. Lexi, by his request once he boarded, quickly soothed that concern. They are beings of flesh just as they always have been, rather than androids cleverly disguised, but it brings more questions than answers. "No. The Tempest doctor confirmed everything is as it seems."

" _I see._ "

"You've said that," he finally points, sighing, glove cool against his feverish headache. "Forgive me, I don't mean to burden you, I just... I'd like to know what you _do_ see."

A pause drifts in and out of their call, searching for a thought somewhere in the long distance between them, but Sjefa eventually sighs. " _I'm afraid I'm failing you as a teacher._ "

At that, he cannot help but give a weak, private smile to himself. Despite this news bringing the weight of entire planet's, Sjefa has not lost her sense of humor. "I will not tell anyone. Besides, no one would believe me."

" _They wouldn't even believe_ me, _when I've said as much for the past hundred years. I'm not ashamed to admit I'm fallible,_ " Sjefa scoffs, and though she is not with him, he can sense the roll of her eyes. " _All I know to tell you is that this is but another discovery of our people, like any other._ "

He huffs. "It's... a very _hefty_ discovery."

Another pause swims in the air, heavy in it's thought. " _...Yes, it is. I'll be the first to say this is a bit existential, but we find ourselves in little ways every day. This is no different._ "

"But how do we even _know_ that? All our history, it could have been programmed into us--"

 _"Jaal, I've_ been there _for some of them. And if you don't trust my word, we have many long ties of families that were able to retell it all,_ " she reassures. " _If we truly came from the Jardaan, and had forgotten, we'd create our own culture eventually._ "

He has only silence to offer such wisdom, and for the first time, Jaal is unsure of his teacher. He shouldn't question her brilliance just because he doesn't like hearing it, but he's finding it difficult to find any sense among the logic, much less able to relate to such a feeling. Their revered Moshae, the woman who has guided the entirety of his people for generations, and yet not even she can really tell him how to feel.

" _Think it over,_ " the Moshae says, reading his thoughts, despite the distance and impossibility. " _I must take this information to the rest of our people. Some silence may guide your mind._ "

He hums, uncertain what else to say. "Perhaps."

" _You could use some of it, regardless. Things are far too loud in your line of work. You've become too used to it,_ " She gives one last piece of advice, always trying to steer him right, always making sure he is on his very best of paths, even when he is no longer her student. " _Isharay, Jaal._ "

He is left alone again, and Jaal can only lean his tired, aching head against his work table in response. How is it that they can feel so similar, but think so differently? How is it that with one of the worst, ground-shaking tragedies of the angara, it's so _easy_ that there is only _one_ emotion he should feel? Yet, just an hour ago, their entire history and very likeness of existence changes right from under them, tells them that they are not even real people to begin with, and... It means nothing? There's that word again. _Nothing._

This trip has not been kind to him, he realizes.

Exhaltation, Remnant, the Jardaan. All life-changing and painful, Jaal thinks with a hefty sigh. Would it have been better if he hadn't jumped aboard this voyage, simply an outsider listening in on traveling gossip, rather than seeing it with his own eyes?

...No, it wouldn't. He would have been at the Resistance, forever in the very same rank until he died, feeling envious and inadequate and unimportant. He would have regret not seeing any of what has happened in person, he would have never gained the diverse, second family that is the Tempest, and worst of all he would have never earned Faunia's love.

Having a second family, falling in love, Jaal's in the midst of the greatest adventure of all his day's, and _for once_ he see's himself in the future. It is life-changing and painful, but his life is better for it.

_Nothing else matters._

...The Jardaan, they must've loved him and his people, at the very least.

To have given them this life. To not only create them, but to ensure that they will survive, even against all odds. They could have made them simple mindless clones, but instead gave them minds, and feelings, and even reproduction organs so they could have families and the bonds that come with them. They could have threw them to the wilds and watched to see if they'd adapt or die, but instead built them monoliths of technology for each world in their entire universe, so that they may live comfortably. The Jardaan could have simply seen their creations as things without consequence, dying and suffering or living and thriving simply to satisfy dull curiosity, simple insects to a pack of Gods--but they didn't.

The Jardaan wanted them to live, to thrive, to grow, even if it meant forgetting them entirely. They loved them, and without instruction on anything but that, they then let them go.

Whether they're dead or alive, whether or not they are but simple AI's performing the duty of another, there is a being far beyond the stars. Looking over them.

He supposes Faunia and the Moshae are right; it means nothing. All animals, all people, come from somewhere, somehow. He is organs, and flesh, and feelings. He was birthed from a family, and not of coding. He's no different than any other living being, whether they be an ancient animal gone through millions of years of evolution, or a hybrid bred into existence, or a lab creation. Whatever purpose the Jardaan made for him, if there was some grand master scheme to begin with, it went on with the rest of life--and Jaal not completing it will not be the end of time.

While he is stewing in his thoughts, staring blankly into nothing, he hears the door open with the following sound of padding feet, but Jaal does not need to turn around to know who it is. "Hello, Faunia... Have you come to see if I'm finally broken? To see what discovering that my people were... invented has done to me?"

There's a heaviness she brings with her, _concern_ and _frustration_ and _exhaustion_ radiating off of her as if she had a field of her own, and Jaal turns to see how it shadows her lovely features. All they have right now is the advantage of scaring the kett, the Archon's Sword's corpse, the ghost of Meridian's lost path, and a half-baked plan to find it. It's not nothing, but... it's not much.

"This is huge--I'd be flipping tables."

He hums, considering, but finds he can't entirely relate. "Hm, nope... Not upset."

"No?"

"No, I'm... numb," he says, finally finding words for his emotions, finally finding answers among the questions. "I'm... in awe. There's a peace in know that, though the universe is beyond your understanding, it doesn't need your understanding to function. That you may even have a hidden destiny."

Faunia mistakes his words, trying to reassure him, trying to offer what she herself has learned through this journey. "Does it matter? Your people aren't _shackled_ to this new discovery."

"I agree. We don't owe anything to the Jardaan. Our destiny is our own," But he can't help but smile, thrill shaking through him. The Jardaan, these people who love his own, who have given them their lives and protected them against opposition because _nothing else matters_ \--though they have nothing much, there is a chance for the angara to find what has been lost, and so much more. "I'm not broken, Faunia. I'm _excited!_ The angara were created for a purpose. We were given vaults and golden world--all these advanced tools..."

Faunia's brows raise in soft surprise at that, but she listens silently as he discovers himself aloud.

"And there is _nothing_ the kett can do about it," he says, voice wavering with newfound energy. No more will he believe they will win, simply because he has to. No more will he bravado courage, and strength, and fearlessness. No more, will his people have to talk each other up, simple to live another day. Now, there _is_ hope. As a fact, there _is_ hope. "The future holds more for the angara than a never-ending war on the kett. _Much_ more..."

He stops short when he see's his beloved's gentle smile, radiating with awe, and gratitude, and affection, and so much silent love, Jaal can hardly stand it. To think that for even a second, Jaal considered it would have been better if he never boarded this ship, away from the most unbelievable and miraculous being in two entire galaxies. She has killed the Cardinal, and the Archon's Sword, and taken down entire fleets, and healed their very planet's, with only the touch of her fingertips.

Whoever the Jardaan are, perhaps a little bit of them live inside her--because whatever he says, whatever hope he finds, she has _never_ had to fake it. She's always believed in it, and believed in him.

"I really love that you can be so open and vulnerable with me," she replies to his silence, reaching for him, and Jaal is helpless to surrender his hands to her gentle grip. "Thank you."

As if Jaal is anything to ever be thankful for to a being who can bend galaxies, as if his very existence is a blessing to this ethereal creature, but with Faunia he feels his heart stutter and _fill_ with such a prospect. They have made each other's lives so much better. "You make me feel safe."

"It doesn't matter if we were created by a god, reborn from our ancestors, or exist as the dream of an AI superpower," he finalizes, strong palms holding his own so gently. "This discovery changes nothing--except ourselves. And that's..."

"Everything." she finishes.

He sighs his adoration, drawing her close and leaning his forehead against her's, to feel her breathe, to take in her scent, to be in her presence in this vulnerable time. Perhaps this trip hasn't been kind to him, perhaps nothing is ever perfect, but within this moment he still... "I love my life, Faunia."

"Mine too," she whispers, a smile in her voice. "I love that you're in it."

He closes his eyes as he discovers the Moshae, as always, was right; his line of work favors far too much noise, and as such he does not appreciate the kind, safe silence enough.  
But it isn't long until Liam's voice chimes in his ears, interrupting their quiet. " _Jaal, meet up with me in my bunk ASAP._ "

He grumbles, nuzzling against his lover, not wanting to let go, but Faunia's more pronounced nose bumps his in call for his attention. "Liam wanted to treat you to something."

Jaal hums quizzically, opening his eyes at that. "Oh?"

"Milky Way movies," she replies, chuckling, gentle smile still on her lips. "To be a little normal, for a change."

...Liam truly is the kindest of friends, having asked him his current state straight after their discovery, and always prepared to calm his mind with ' _chatter about nothing_ ' when his feelings are too raw to share. Perhaps, all together, they can share their quiet.

But there's one part of the his comforts still missing. "Will you be there too?"

"The treat might be for me too, so I hear."

Jaal smiles. "Then it sounds perfect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i took an extra week to finish this!! i feel super bad about two late chapters in a row, but because the last one was late, it left me with only three days to write and finish this one on time; i needed the extra week to both give this chapter proper attention, and get my schedule back on track. thank you all for being so patient with me!


	19. I hate the beach, but here I stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when Jaal is feeling there is no force in the universe that could take this home from him, the Archon threatens everything within a single second.

Faunia's very much in trouble.

They can hear the strain in Director Tann's voice even from the lower deck, Jaal, Vetra, and Kallo sharing nervous looks with every polite, but tight word that is shared. It seems very unassuming, standard small-talk on how they're currently fairing, updates on outposts which consist of largely good news, little warnings about even littler issues, but it isn't long until the tide of reprimand pulls her in.

"I'm surprised he didn't snap as soon as the call was answered," Vetra murmurs, mandibles fluttering anxiously. "Tann likes his leadership."

" _Salarian patience,_ " Kallo adds with a low octave. He values the direction of his ship, and no doubt hates the prospect of piling on his workload to his close friend, but--so long as they are drifting anyway--getting in on current gossip might be too good to pass up for the pilot. "Besides, I wouldn't want to be anywhere _near_ Faunia if some idiot decided to burst in, and start screaming at her."

"She's not nearly so frightening..." Jaal defends, but they both offer him a dead look at that, and--Well, the rifleman isn't _completely_ unaware; she's not frightening, but still, Faunia is a force to be reckoned with. "...They would indeed have to be a fool, though, going up against her."

" _We know you defied us. You went for Meridian, in direct violation of Initiative orders, even though our reasons were quite clear,_ " The reprimanding begins, and though his tone is even, the collective widened eyes they share tells him they can all hear the frustration in his words. " _Yet..._ "

That is, before it disappears entirely.

Leashed by his own curiosity, Jaal makes way with light steps towards the ramp upwards, feeling the urge to peek alongside with his eavesdropping.

"You're gonna go up there?" Vetra whispers, seemingly surprised, though Jaal can't understand why. The conversation may be between the Director and the Pathfinder, but it's not exactly private either, especially when it's on a pedestal like this. His lover will not mind his presence, so long as he does not step into Tann's view, where he is unneeded.

"I want to see their faces."

Kallo argues lightly with him, not entirely trying to stop him, but a little like he's teaching a child. "Listen with your _ears_ , Jaal, not with your eyes."

"I'm curious!" he excuses, before leaving the two behind, climbing up the ramp's slope and stopping just short of where it ends, glimpsing across the floor and up Faunia's tall posture. Across from her, Tann's visage stands, just as straight in posture and nodding his respect.

" _You were correct, Ryder._ "

"I was?" He hears Faunia balk, but she's quick to pull together what little professionalism she keeps. "I mean, _I was_ , but--You're not angry?"

" _We should have trusted your instincts,_ " One can think what they will of the Director--that he is a politician like any other that puts on too much bravado, that he shines more on their successes to blind people away from their current struggles, that he is a bigot with far too much power than he deserves--but at least his favor is always out for the good of their people. He is humble where it counts the most, praising acts of rebellion against him, so long as nobody is harmed and the good guys win. " _You've proven time and again that you deserve the title of 'Pathfinder'. I have never been so glad to be wrong._ "

Her face does not shift from it's current deadpan scowl, but with the shuffle of her feet, Jaal knows she flushes under the praise; it's not often a superior approves of her actions, especially those made against them. "Oh. Well... Thank you, Director Tann--"

But a distant curse shoots through the background, making it boldly across their call. " _Bullshit._ "

" _Ah,_ " Faunia says aloud, hardened stance slacking as she rocks on her heels. "There it is."

" _I can't believe you've just_ told _her that. She doesn't--_ " Addison muscles her way into visibility, and even through the pixel grains of the mono-colored video feed, Jaal see's her face creased with hot anger. " _You have proudly defied us!_ "

"He just said that."

" _Shut your mouth!_ " she barks, teeth gritting. " _You have disobeyed direct orders from your superiors, you have ignored every responsibility you currently have in favor of your own agenda, you have fraternized with our one envoy, and you've even managed to somehow convince the rest of the Pathfinders to turn against us--How are we supposed to trust you with our lives if you take action like this!?_ "

"Uh, because 'my own agenda' is getting us a habitable planet?" Faunia defends easily. "I did exactly what fits the job description."

"The job description--!? _And how would you know anything about that, exactly? You weren't trained for this. You weren't even good at your_ last _job!_ " The criticism is hissing, biting, words taking the place of venomous fangs. So obviously has a long history of anger built up in the Director, boiling over and burning everyone within earshot with it's steam, uncaring to the awkward and explosive situation it is putting into it's person. " _Why in God's name you were ever allowed on this project, I'll never know, much less given the role as our_ Pathfinder. _Rebellious, temperamental, apathetic-- Alec should have **NEVER** given it to you--_ "

"But he did," Faunia quickly puts an end to her rant, tone even but hard, harsh, cold, with eyes glaring twice as intimidating. "You are _stuck with me_ just as much as I am with you, so I'm going to do my job, and save your lives, and _get you out of my hair_ , whether you like it or not. Live with it, or die mad. We're done here."

Just as Addison pipes up to shoot off at the mouth more, the press of the biotic's digit cuts the feed entirely, and Jaal watches her exhale heavily and lean on the same table she used to bring this ship together--where she defended him when he first arrived, where she cursed Akksul's name for insulting his, where she trusted the angara with the painful secret of her AI, and where she combined the Pathfinder's and the Tempest together to defy the odds against them.

Faunia's more right than she knows when she says that the Nexus superiors don't have the on-field experience that they do, always seeing her mistakes, but never there for her most noble and sacrificial moments. His feet carry him to her, his arms wrapping around her waist in a comforting hold, and instantly does Faunia swap her weight to lean against his chest instead.

"Hey." she hums, eyes closing at the warmth, hair tickling at his cowl.

"Hello," he murmurs back, nuzzling into the soft frizz of her curls, inhaling deeply to breathe her scent. "Are you okay?"

" _Yeeeah_ , I've had worse." Faunia drawls, shrugging against him, but still she turns her head to seek the comfort of his kiss. Jaal can only ever give it to her, lips soft against her own.

"Hopefully your details to your brother are going better?" he asks once they part, a whisper against her lips.

Under her hooded eyes, he can tell said lips curl into a smile, beautiful, seductive, proud. "You heard that, huh?"

"I did," he grins back. "And? Did I gain his approval?"

"You don't need it," she scoffs, head lolling against his shoulder. "But yes. I made sure to brag _all about_ how good you are to me."

"Has he been good to _you?_ "

"...Getting there. Things can't be fixed in a day, but," she shares, eyes glistening with glee, and even though they may not be perfect Jaal knows things must be going good so far. "He laughs at my jokes, nowadays. Says I smile more than he remembers."

He hums, thinking, considering. When he had first met Faunia, the only feeling that struck his mind when she looked to him was cold, dark and brooding, the chill of death in her stare. There were expressions that weren't entirely frowns, small quirks to her lips, huffs of laughter that didn't quite want to put in the effort, but it was perhaps _weeks_ before she first graced him with her smile.

It was worth the wait, the deadly chill blooming into the warmth of a pink sunset, gentle and awing and leaving Jaal completely incapable to do anything but stare. "You do. I used to think you never would, but then you did, and I made a personal vow to try to get more out of you."

"Then, I have you to thank for that," she says with a low, seductive tune to her voice made only for him as she turns in his arms, pressing against him more fully and stealing a deeper kiss. Her arms around his cowl, his hands making way through her hair, Jaal mumurs low in response. "I don't want to talk about Freddy right now..."

He rumbles deep within himself as she nips softly at his lip, chuckling. "What spurned this?"

"Do I need a reason to fraternize with my envoy?"

"Mm, no..." he sighs between her lips, pulling her closer still, even when there's no space left to envelope. "Never, lover. Never."

But work leaves little time for them to steal away, and Suvi is soon calling into the briefing room, with wariness to her voice. " _Uh, Faunia?_ "

The biotic in question exhales heavily, not quite peeling herself away, but leaning her weight away in favor of not speaking directly into his mouth. "Yeah?"

" _Do you remember that data log you found a while back?_ "

They both look at each other, Jaal's arms dropping to a more neutral spot at her waist as he thinks, but the rifleman only remember's a strange occurrence of kett in a turf war with their own selves. It was during but a side mission, leading only to a few dated audio logs, and long since considered irrelevant due to information too outdated and lack of evidence. Faunia voices his thoughts aloud, brow twisting. "That old thing?"

" _I've been retracing some steps, to see if any of it will be of any use to Meridian,_ " Suvi explains. " _I got SAM to break into it. We thought it was a data log, but it--but it's not, it's... Well, take a listen._ "

The speakers of the Tempest hum to life, and what voice comes from their mouths has a chill slicing through the current warmth of Faunia.

" _...the Archon has abandoned our way. Spurns tradition, defies protocol. He abuses his authority, obsesses over Remnant secrets, and keeps us cut off from home. This cannot continue. He will return to the path of right, or be destroyed. This is my promise. An Archon stands tall only while we hold him up._ "

_The Primus._

Faunia comments carelessly, unafraid, unlike he. "Looks like I'm not the only one with upset coworkers."

" _I wonder if there's a way to trace the signal... Scanning for navpoint,_ " Suvi thinks aloud, as he fingers no doubt jump into work. " _I'll transmit it to your omni-tool in case you want to check it out._ "

"What do you think we'll find out there?"

" _I don't know... It might be a base of kett dissidents, organizing against the Archon._ "

There's a silence that follows that, a dangerous moment of consideration, where ideas of the worst kind begin to fester. Jaal's fingers squeeze at her waist a little pleadingly, knowingly, but with plans for finding Meridian being drummed up and then thrown out again, they truly have nothing to lose...

"We could take advantage of that."

* * *

 

This is revolting.

The call takes them to a stray kett lab on Eos--not as bad as Kadara, but still full of itching sand--full of syringes and vials and studies, and things _far too close_ to the humans taking refuge on this planet. Not only that, but vile calls to action disguising itself as mere politics, inspirational sermons speaking against the Archon--but still advocating for genocide as if it were a necessity, a boring chore, a simple _must_ they have in normal, every day life. How _easily_ do the kett take the mass murder of his people, the total annihilation of life and all it's culture, for no other reason than to infest it's space like a hive of _parasites_.

But they are not here only to anger him, the trace ending at a desk made up of kett tech, and there alone. "...Well, we found it. This looks like a comm. console. It's probably what's sending out the messages."

" _And so you have found me,_ " The console comes to life however, creating a shape Jaal can only recognize once it's fully formed, making his scowl deepen. _Her again_. " _You are a single-minded creature, 'Pathfinder'._ "

Faunia, unthreatened, only offers brutal sarcasm. "I can hang up."

" _I see it now,_ " The Primus ignores it however, deadpan, uncaring, emotionless, as she endanger's their livelihood. " _Your determination will grant kett dominion over this galaxy._ "

"I didn't come here to listen to your monologue," Faunia continues to bully, and Jaal is reminded that the Primus at this moment is but pixels on a desk, and that there is no output for his anger and no need to feel unsafe, especially under his lovers protection. "If you put this signal out in hopes to get your ass kicked, _I can do that._ "

" _This posturing benefits no one. Our confrontation is inevitable, not imminent,_ " she disregards, pushing to make her point. " _I did not reveal myself as a traitor easily. I did so only because I seek a mutual benefit._ "

The steam from the three of them dissipates some at that, but it's heat is never truly gone, his sneer staying in place even as the Primus does not look to him as if he were nonexistent. Seems Faunia was not the only one hoping to gain an upper hand, confirming it herself. "Getting rid of the Archon."

" _The Archon's obsession with the Remnant incites chaos, and endangers all we've worked for,_ " she explains her treachery, deadpan, but it only makes the rifleman's very heart _gag._ To think that the kett analyze the Archon's proud genocide, the millions of names he claims and tosses away, the piles upon piles of bodies he leaves in his wake, and rather than find some semblance of _wrong_ in it they think _it is not enough_. They instead thirst for more blood, more bodies, more destruction, and will kill their very own leader for daring to so much as put that on _pause_. Deluded and disgusting. Jaal would _spit_ on her corpse, if he could. " _This must end._ "

"And you're expecting favors from _me?_ "

" _I am kett. I do not_ need _favors from anyone,_ " she corrects, but her explanation bares no weight to that. " _I would use you as a tool to hasten the Archon's destruction. I need only ensure nothing stands between you and your target. Once he is cut down, the Remnant will cease to be a concern. We will complete our purpose here and leave._ "

"Exhalting the angara..." Jaal finally growls, unable to hold his tongue, and it is only then that the Primus' apathetic gaze falls to him. Her visage gives him a quick once-over, and Jaal can only pray that his face _haunts_ her with the millions of people she's stolen from his race.

The word she associates with him, however, is far more sickening. " _One day, you will be family. Until then, fight if you must._ "

Something in him shudders, gurgles, coiling in disgust at that. _Family,_ as if she knows what that is, or what it means. She knows what Exhaltation is, and knows that she was _somebody_ before she was the Primus, and yet she doesn't care who the family of that somebody even is or was. Doesn't care about the families she's killing now and how many loved ones she takes away from them, genetically grooming them to fill a hole in her army of a bond instead, and _punishing_ when they do not fit--like war, always taking, ever-consuming.

What a lonely, and miserable, and _selfish_ existence.

" _But I offer a reprieve from this conflict, so you can destroy a mutual enemy._ "

Liam speaks up, echoing his thoughts. "Deals with the devil always end badly. I don't want to end badly."

"The kett cannot be trusted," Jaal nods, speaking up. "Faunia-- _think._ "

She acknowledges him from over her shoulder, but there are no reassurances or brutal rebuttal's that come, instead the silence of uncertainty which does little to soothe him. The Pathfinder is thinking about it, despite his feelings, and especially despite the risks.

"What exactly do I get out of this deal?" she turns back, persisting, at the very least cautious. "Besides getting through _him_ to get to _you_ , that is."

" _Sometime soon, I will be called upon by the Archon to destroy you,_ " the kett readily admits. " _When that time arrives, I will provide you the means to disable my ship._ "

"Or you could just leave me alone."

" _And should you fail to bring down the Archon, my treachery will be exposed._ "

" _Pussy._ " Liam leans in to whisper to him, and though Jaal usually does not like such a word, it's crudeness does not nearly explain the _vile_ nature that is the Primus.

"Things are never simple, are they?" the biotic sighs before pausing, weighing the benefits and their safety. "...Fine."

" _During our next clash, I shall lower my ship's defenses and allow you to use a kill-code to disable it,_ " Despite Jaal's doubts, however, the Primus surprisingly reaches for console commands out of their view, and soon follows the _ping_ of her message. How unlike the kett, to give something, rather than take--especially when they could betray her, just as quickly. " _There. I have transmitted the code to the console in this room. I bid you goodbye, Pathfinder. We will not speak again._ "

"Oh, _believe me_ , we'll have some words."

They end the conversation with promises made to the enemy, and a secret made to be kept from both the Resistance and the Nexus, heading back to the Tempest to skip their report back and check on progress to Meridian. Jaal supposes he cannot be mad--or, well, _he could_ , but decidedly isn't. Such a deal being made is in favor to both their goals, will ultimately weaken the kett despite their hand in it, has already been honored so far, and the rifleman cannot deny such advantages simply because he personally _dislikes_ the idea of cooperating with such _monsters._

But, still, he wonders why Faunia--so untrustworthy of strangers, so rebellious to others, so independent even when it hurts--has made this decision. Surely, he's missing something.

"What _was_ that?" Liam asks on the walk back to the Nomad, seemingly feeling the same.

Jaal has questions of his own, following suit, trying to rid the awful taste that it leaves in his mouth. "You trust her?"

"No," she answers, nonchalant, not even the slightest hint of shame in her choice. "But, if she's lying, it's just more kett to shoot at. If not, then we have an upper hand. Archon's going to be dead anyway. No skin off my nose."

Jaal hums at that, the language barrier distancing the each of them further--though, thankfully, his lover knows him well and is able to detect his confusion as much as she respects it.

"Means it's no burden to me, big guy."

Faunia is understanding, and sympathetic, and kind, and _surely_ she has not forgotten all that he has been through. Surely, she has not disregarded his people's suffering, has not shrugged off the tears and mourning she's come so often to soothe away, and will not be unwilling to listen to his troubles. "I am... _wary_ , dearest."

"So am I. I don't mean to trivialize things, Jaal," she reassures him before he even has to explain, knowing what ails him, because his struggles have become her's too. "But she said something about the Archon's obsession with Remnant endangering everything they've worked for."

As they stop short of the Nomad to allow the doors to life open, Liam asks for clarification. "And?"

"She's wrong. It'd, in fact, help the kett," Faunia answers. "The Primus is helping us more than she knows."

...That's right, it means she doesn't know, doesn't it? That the Remnant, that Meridian, it would cut their effort to exterminate them all by entire generations. The Archon has, whether it be because he hasn't told them or that his soldiers--like Faunia--do not truly listen to him, not shared that there is a simple switch that could end the angara with only the flick of it.

The Primus is foolish enough to believe that everyone's pursuit for said switch is for naught, too uncaring to so much as wonder, too thirsty for blood to analyze any other way other than the immediate satisfaction of violence-- _a single-minded creature_ , much like how she thought of the Pathfinder. But by executing the Archon, by reclaiming Meridian, it will end their plans entirely.

"...Your brilliance shines through." Jaal smiles, proud that he's caught himself such an admirable lover; proving herself time and time again, with strength that outmatches any god or devil, and wit that outsmarts even the most manipulative of kett tactics.

" _Sure,_ " Liam haphazardly agrees, but it doesn't sound entirely forgiving as he shrugs away Jaal's poetics. "But we're on thin ice here."

"Right," Faunia nods as she boards, climbing into the drivers seat. "So, _tread lightly._ "

" _Pathfinder?_ " Suvi calls just as they settle. " _Is now a good time?_ "

"Yep. What's up, Suvi?"

" _I think we've done it,_ " she says. " _Or, we will._ "

* * *

 

Where they had lost Meridian is where they'll find her again, a door that was previously closed now open, with the key that is the patterns of the Scourge and the fruit of all their hard labor.

...Except, well, it's overrun with Remnant that are rather hyper aggressive to do their job this time. As he guns down another, they reach the new rooms stronghold, in it's very center lying a map instead of a waterfall of neon doom.

"One last Remnant door," she says as she trots to it, gun quickly pocketed in favor of her omni-tool, scanning quickly and efficiently. "SAM, everything ready?"

" _All relevant data is queued for uplink._ "

"Right. Job done there. Let's..." Her palm pets through the consoles flat keys, commanding it's attention. "Find a path."

It responds with it's own visage of the Scourge appearing in the air, tidal waves of death floating across their eyes, until vessels that are alien to his eyes begin to drift across as well. Heavily armored, a light shining through the cracks to it's very center, confidently striding right into what seemingly is their demise.

" _Remnant ships have lifted off. They're following the override vector._ " SAM narrates, however, and the Scourge burns away from the ships be-lining for it in a show of fiery light.

"The Scourge is moving, but they're getting through it, to... something," Faunia confirms, and then the angle changes--through the embers of the holographic Scourge is a planet. "Meridian?"

When it fades away, the console has left a physical presentation in it's place, cleanly, tiled, darkened, almost like...

"A Remnant planet? Constructed?" Jaal looks through the commands from the past appearing above them, and though he cannot make sense of all of it, he recognizes the unmistakable text that is Shelesh. "Can this be correct? The data says it's hollow."

" _A self-contained seed world. It is the heart of the vault network, and when reactivated, every planet will be effected,_ " SAM helpfully explains for him, reassuring that it may be a planet of metal, but not without life. " _It is the means to make Heleus a home, Pathfinder._ "

"A home..." Faunia repeats in a whisper, awed, reverent, before turning to flash her lovely smile at him alone. "Can you believe it, Jaal? We can fix everything that's _ever_ gone wrong in this entire galaxy. Make it our home."

_Their home._

There's something about that--and the way she addresses _him, specifically_ \--that has him blushing, choked up by the ideas taking place in his own head, embarrassed and flustered and everything explosively _yes_ making a mess of his thoughts. The joining of their family, a shared bed, a garden in the backyard, a pet scampering across the tile, a perfect view of the sun settling low across the expanse of a world _they created._..

Eventually, maybe, a proposal. A marriage. Faunia Ryder, the Pathfinder, and his stunning wife.

Maybe she'll be opposed to all of that, perhaps she'll want carpet instead of tile and will absolutely abhor gardening, perhaps she'll never want to make a legal document out of their relationship, but either way--It could be a planet so hollow that it echoes with each footstep, and still it would be the _perfect_ home for the two of them.

" _Congratulations, Pathfinder,_ " the Archon's voice rings in their ears. " _A great day for us all._ "

Their celebration is quickly shot dead, horror stilling them all.

Something in Faunia's features shifts, nothing quite changing at all but the strain unrecognizable to Jaal's trained eye. Her expression stays the same, but the flesh of her throat goes tight. Her arms lay limp against her, but the muscles their flex, and stay permanently tense. She doesn't even speak, no threat, no sarcasm, no courage to shoot back, lips tightly shut as if making any noise at all would _kill her_ where she stood.

Then, her eye, the biolights of her prosthetics--they _flicker_ , and Faunia's flinch wracks her whole body. She's in agony, and she's trying to hide it, constrict it, contain it within her body. 

"Faunia?" Jaal is helpless to his own concern, reaching out for her, not able to understand; _how,_ how is it the Archon is hurting her without being here? Still silent, she turns again towards the console and stumbles into her own steps, before finally doubling over and crumbling to the floor as she curls in on herself.

His lover is brought to her knee's, writhing, sneering, attempting to speak but her own pain strangling her, and Jaal drops as well to hold her. Frantically, he tries to find the source, but is only met with her whimpers and gritted groans of agony as Jaal is able to do _nothing nothing nothing._

" _I believed you a fitting rival, but you are a false thing. A_ lie," Jaal hears him continue to grit through the channel, an odd amount of... emotion in the usually stoic alien, as if he were betrayed, lied to, played with. This-- _fantasy_ , this idea he had molded of the Pathfinder, whatever false bond he felt with Faunia, somewhere along the way she stopped fitting into it. For that, the Archon is punishing her. " _Once I saw what made you special--your connection--I knew how and when to take it from you._ "

"The Tempest," she finally rasps within his arms. "We need to get back. _Take me back--_ "

" _I_ let _you find Meridian, and now I'll use your SAM to weaponize it. All Heleus will be exalted or, one by one, your worlds will die_ ," he threatens, deadly promises directly in their ears. " _Starting with Eos._ "

Eos, where only a small refuge is, and not Aya or Havarl or Voeld. The first race the Archon will completely wipe out is not the angara, but humanity, to satisfy his own personal vendetta. Perhaps the Primus was right, and the Archon gone mad with his very own power, a danger to even to his own kin.

" _All I need to start is an implant like your's. And, thanks to your memories, I know who else has one,_ " he continues. " _Another reason to take the Hyperion._ "

_Freddy._

Despite her struggle, her eyes snap wide open with something that can only be recognizes as appalled, her nose scrunches and wrinkles much like an animal pulling their face into a fierce snarl, her limbs continue to tremble but for a reason Jaal suspects isn't exertion--and, most frightening of all, the walls of the city seem to _groan_ and _creak_ in sympathy, protesting the Archon's threat. If the hum of her biotics were the quiet before the storm, the stillness before a predator's pounce, now Jaal feels it finally _unleashed_ under his very palms...

Many layers of Faunia's temper has Jaal seen throughout this journey, but in this very moment, he's never seen her so angry.

"I'll kill you," For all her anger, for all her might, she does not yell. She whispers it, a soft promise that needs no proving to the world, and it is then Jaal knows she's truly _snapped_. "I'll kill you and _everything_ you've ever created."

" _Fall to darkness, Pathfinder,_ " But the Archon scoffs, not heeding, and careless, and entirely foolish. " _You were_ almost _worthy._ "

And so she does, the biolights of her eye and prosthetic flickering, her body seizing so hard he can see the veins in her head try to escape her--

Before she goes completely limp. 

Jaal feels struck, dumbfounded, panicked without so much as an extra second to access if that truly happened in his arms, and quickly does he shift to place his ear at her mouth. _She's passed out, she's unstoppable, she can't be dead there's no possible force in the universe that could kill her without touching her--_

Silence. No longer does her sweet breathe grace him, and Jaal feels his soul _crush_ itself under the weight of that.

She's dead.

_Without SAM to bring her back._

Jaal gives Liam a desperate look, and instantly does he rush over as if his very feet caught fire, cursing along the way before he drops to his knee's and takes her body-- _her corpse her corpse her corpse_ \--from him. " _Shit, shit, shit--_ Call the Tempest and get that door open!"

As Liam lies her flat and begins pumping his palms against where her very heart lie--Something medical, that angara can't do? Jaal doesn't know and, for once, _cannot care_ to ask--Jaal follows the order blindly, not sure what else to do and body moving on autopilot now that it's been tasked with some use.

"Tempest! The Pathfinder is down-- _Come in!_ "

No response.

"Tempest, _do you copy!?_ "

Again, silence.

Tears prick at his eyes, teeth gritting so hard it hurts, and the rifleman--with so much emotion built inside him and nothing to do with it--takes it out on the locked door looming in front of him. Mocking, imposing, _silent just like everyone else_ , Jaal cracks his rifle against it in opposition, nearly breaking it into pieces--

But a harsh gasp from behind him shocks him out of his panic, Faunia gulping and heaving heavy, and as Jaal turns he watches as color reaches her face and the lights to her prosthetic's come to life. She shivers, eyes wide, lungs claiming back the air it lost, but still she jumps back into action and crawls her way back to the console. "The Hyperion-- M-My brother--"

"Faunia! You were..." Liam protests, drawing towards her just as he does, "Gone."

"It's gone dark," she rasps, desperate. "We need to get back."

Watching her hand stray towards the console again, this time instead of inspiring awe , makes Jaal almost want to slap the offending hand away. It's a miracle she even came back, for a third time--She can't, and neither can he, not again. "Wait, _no, no, no_ \--That door is _Remnant!_ You _need_ SAM."

"I don't _need_ anyone or anything," his lover argues, eyes flashing with anger at his resistance, but it's tired and weak with having just died. For once, she ignores his concern rather than compliments it, fingers pushing against the console. "What we _do_ need is to get back."

There is only the hum of the Remnant walls acknowledging the touch, as if thinking about it, rather than the telltale shifting of gears that usually follows her touch. Again, does Faunia strain, face twisting in agony and throat ripping open with a pained cry.

Her palm flinches away from the console before he can remove it himself, as if its just _burned_ her, but just as quickly does she reach again. So much _pain_ , she is willing to endure.

"Faunia, your bravery is inspiring, but _please,_ " he begs, palms open, eyes stinging with tears that haven't escaped. "You're _hurting_ yourself!"

"I h- _have_ to. We need to get back!" She argues still, strong, and courageous, and _completely stubborn_ , the walls of the door twitching in reply but otherwise remaining closed. Without the AI, without it's power connecting her to this tech, she is but a human like any other. A _piece of meat_ , pretending to be divinity. Without SAM, there is no power for theses walls to worship. "I--It's moving."

Another cry of suffering, and instantly does he pull up his omni-tool to scan her. "Your vitals are crazy, are you... _sure_ you want to continue?"

" _I can do this!_ "

Her feet slip and shuffle as she tries to stand prouder, indignant, angry, stubborn as the Remnant refuse to listen to her call, and again does she _slam_ her palm against the console. Jaal, unwilling to stand by while the light of his life snuffs her own self out, moves to remove her himself--

But the door opens.

Without the AI, without it's power connecting her to this tech, she is but a human like any other. So how did...?

The movement of crimson from the corner of his gaze calls his attentions back, Faunia's nose dripping blood. She was able to command the Remnant, someway, somehow, but at a cost. "You look hurt. Can you go on?"

She gives a stern nod, but both he and Liam can see the tremble taking home in her knees, and so when she starts rushing herself to leave Jaal stays close beside her--in case she needs someone to catch her. "To the Tempest. We have to move!"

As they're running back through the entrance, the comms come back to life, and Gil's voice breaks through the static. " _Try it now._ "

" _Pathfinder?_ " Then Kallo's, confused and irritated and desperate, feelings Jaal sympathized with not too long ago; apparently he wasn't the only one trying to reach help. " _Come on!_ "

"We're here, Tempest!"

" _I got her! I got--heeey!_ "

Suvi interjects, a warning in her call. " _Pathfinder! Kett took down the comms and hijacked the Hyperion!_ "

"I know!" she calls back, a stressed waver to her voice. " _He has my fucking brother!_ "

"Get Lexi on standby! Ryder, she's... Hurt." Liam warns, ever a thorough soldier, even when the circumstance is anything but understandable. How she is alive, how she still possess the power SAM gave her, it brings up so many questions he thought he already knew the answer to.

Perhaps SAM was never needed at all. Perhaps, among the distance of space and time, the Jardaan truly are connected to her.

" _Shite,_ " Suvi curses, snapping him from his thoughts. " _Shite!_ "

" _We're getting reports from... everywhere,_ " Kallo continues to update them as Faunia stumbles towards the gravity well they came in on, Jaal having to balance her by the shoulder to still her, and allowing the ground to open beneath them to fall. " _All remaining kett ships are on the move._ "

 _On the move._ The Archon isn't wasting any time putting his plans into motion, with his armies and weapons already in motion, and the Hyperion already taken. Only within moments of telling them his plan, and already the Archon is so close to his goal. At this rate, Eos could be gone by the time they exit.

"It's all the Archon. If he takes Meridian, he'll destroy worlds--starting with Eos," Faunia growls, rage far more energetic than she. "He thinks he's won."

A pause, uncertain silence filling the spaces between their calls.

" _Pathfinder... It kind of feels like he has._ "

" _Fuck that,_ " Faunia hisses back as their feet hit the floor, racing to the last door. "I'll lose all my limbs again, and then the rest of me, before I let that happen. _This isn't over until I'm fucking dead!_ "

Once they've exited, the entirety of the Tempest is on the ground floor, waiting for them.

"Ryder! There you are!" Lexi is the first to greet them, worry only fit for a mother claiming her voice and legs as she runs to her, but an omni-tool and a scan follow rather than an embrace. "You _need_ to stop doing this."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause--" Faunia stutters, chokes, and Jaal doesn't want to think about the possibility of bile catching in her throat. "'Cause I'm totally volunteering for it. The ark?"

"Still headed to Meridian with a small flotilla. You got the last signal before the Archon locked it down." Kallo answers, helpful as ever, but unfortunately having no good news to spare.

"We're not letting that stand! Be ready to move--"

"Wait," Cora steps in front of Liam, making him stutter to a stop. "We need a plan--"

"Stop ship, kill jerk--"

" _With what!?_ "

"He's got the Hyperion," Vetra reasons, and there he finds the same concern that Faunia carries, her own sister having been lost to the risk of the kett. "That's _how_ many thousands of hostages?"

But despite Drack having his own family aboard, he argues. "How many worlds does he destroy if we don't move?"

"How many do we _save_ if we get ourselves killed?"

"Well, we have to do something!"

While they bicker among themselves, Jaal sees from the corner of his eyes the flicker of shaky movement, Faunia having quietly slipped away to limp towards--another console. If Jaal hadn't known better, he'd say his lover were a glutton for punishment.

...But he does know better, and he remembers that she dislikes this just as much as he, if not more. Faunia is only ever stubborn to succeed in this job she did not ask for and does not like, only ever silently strong in her own suffering, only ever dying for her own people, again and again, because she has to.

Rather than alerting the rest of the crew to her plan, and prolonging the time their wasting to think, allowing them to command for her to sit still or that they doubt her or whatever else, Jaal slips past as well. He meet's Faunia with an arm around her waist, a grip around her wrist to wrap it around his shoulder, and the biotic submits to the lean as he helps her to the console.

"...Thank you." she croaks, allowing herself to be weak with him, and Jaal can only feel gratitude.

He watches as her fingers tremble as they press into the pad, and with it so does the ground as the mechanism shudders at her touch, activating and shifting something beneath them, in the gravity, in their very souls. Jaal's heart drops with awe as the crew behind them snaps into silence, not saying a word but no doubt sympathizing, because it follows with the loud crack and reverb of Remnant everywhere.

Everywhere, across the starry distance of the ship to right before them, the city moves. The shadow of colossal weapons, and imposing ships bigger than even the Tempest, tower above them as they come to Faunia's call.

A great ancient warrior traveled from her broken life in her galaxy, and came to fix theirs, healing their planets and commanding technology that is not even her's. He doesn't know how she's doing this, but--

He knows that the goddess has been angered, and for that, these machines will _go to war for her_.

He murmurs, distracted, awed, worshiping just as the Remnant do. "Even at your weakest, you are stronger than anyone I've ever known."

"You... did an impossible thing." Peebee echoes on approach.

"Can you keep that up?" Cora asks. "Have them fight for us?"

Again does the trail of crimson flow from her nose, her own power ripping her from the inside out, but Jaal sees the hard resolve in her gaze. When everything is threatened, when the entire galaxy is at risk, she can only take on the challenge.

"I'm sure as hell going to try."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> addison should have left ryder on that citadel where she found her.................. BUT SHE DIDNT
> 
> sorry if timing for these chapters gets a little fucky here or there, as i just got a new full-time job! but fortunately, we're reaching the climax ;)


	20. Gravity Centered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, they can breathe.
> 
> content warning: violence

It truly hits Jaal that _this is it._

They've been at war for so long, battle after battle after battle, filled with half-winnings and losses so heavy they drag behind him. It's been his reality, for him and his people--of the past, of their present, of their future--to struggle to keep their head above water, gasping for air instead of freely breathing it.

But now, it's the first he feels that all those battles have _lead_ to something.

 _This is it_ \--the end of it all.

Jaal has always fought for a life without the kett, but it was only just recently--since boarding the Tempest, and being asked to stay, falling in love with yet another family--that he began _seeing_ himself in it, and now it is only moments away from becoming the truth rather than a mere hopeful fantasy. The Archon and all his underlings dead, the kett threat bordering on extermination, all in the present rather than their distant future. With Jaal there to see and _live_ it, instead of being another dead fighter that was lost to it.

He'd never thought he'd see it. The conclusion to their revolution. The healing.

But Faunia is making it happen.

While the others prepare for battle below, strapping on their guns and armor and making their prayers, Jaal is at the deck looking upon the stars. Jaal and religion have a strange relationship with each other, the discovery of the Jardaan and his people's laboratory-birth complicating it further, but right now it only feels right that he be with his items of worship as well; the galaxy. He used to think they hung above him only to silently watch their suffering, but Jaal see's they represent far more, indefinite but infinite, endless possibilities.

It's not long before the door's open behind him in a call for company, the rifleman not needing to turn to know who it is. Faunia's only form of worship has always been to curse it, as it has cursed her, and so when she needs comfort she comes to him.

"Here you are. Your speech rivaled anything I heard Evfra give," Jaal comments in greeting. "And speaking of him, he's sent a list of all the preparations the Resistance has made."

"Okay." is all she replies with, voice even, entirely business, and not at all what's on her mind.

"You seem so confident and calm, in spite of what's on the line..." he continues, turning to her to find that her usual Initiative armor has changed into something more... _kett_ , in the signature midnight blue he's come to associate Faunia with. Vengeful trophies he hadn't realize she had been picking up, telling tales of the many murders she's left in her stride, and how she's stripped their corpses and bastardized their precious uniforms as her own.

With the amount of parts they collect from kett camps, he wonders if it truly took her so long to build a full suit, or if she had been stowing it away as a self-indulgent project meant for her eyes only. A little secret she's kept to remind herself of what she's capable of, her brutality, her prowess, her confidence, now being worn on her sleeve for the coming battle.

Because, in this moment, she needs that reminder. So long has she built everyone else up with sometimes only chastising to reward her, so long has she boosted moral for the rest of the crew, so long has she eradicated the troubles of complete strangers, yet her comforts for herself are ever hidden and quiet. Strong, for everyone else, but not herself.

"My heart hurts for your burden."

Faunia denies still, shaking her head, face emotionless with it's usual deadpan scowl. "There's no burden."

Jaal smiles, bemused, because anyone else would think her stoicism as proof of her apathy. Angara and humans alike, they would think her lack of reaction as lack of her _having_ one, believing only what they see and so presumptuous to consume any negativity she were to feed them.

But he _knows_ her, and knows that she is the most truthful when she is brimming with so much emotion she can hardly take it, that she keeps herself hidden because she'd rather be seen as _too unaffected_ rather than _too weak._

"You're a gifted liar," the rifleman chuckles, shrugging off her denial, just as she shrugs off his comfort. "But you know you don't have to hide, not from me. Tell me what's _truly_ on your mind."

That's when her bored expression fades, the furrow of her brow and frown of her lips taking it's place, looking caught, and guilty, and ashamed. But she trusts him like she's trusted no other, Jaal gifted just enough to have her feel _right_ when she speaks to him, and so she steps closer to him as she speaks her truth. "...Too much. I'm _excited_ , and _terrified_ , and _angry_ , and... I just don't know, Jaal."

"You are the light that we all follow," he reassures. "That I follow."

But her frown only deepens, shaking her head, as if that were so wholeheartedly wrong. "I--don't think I deserve that."

"The people who matter the most do. The crew, the Pathfinders, the angara. They all think so," Jaal soothes, his hand reaching to tuck her hair--not yet pinned up for battle--behind her ear, leaving room for him to smooth the back of his fingers down her soft cheek. " _I_ think so. I've heard some very ugly parts of your history, but it has not dwindled your beauty, much less my faith in you."

The Pathfinder's gaze only drops, however, unconvinced and unworthy. With it, so does Jaal's touch, finding her hands instead; she is so fragile, so hardy yet so gentle, and he feels if he were to stop touching her for even a minute she may fall to pieces.

Throughout this journey, they have both proven themselves, and no longer do they have to argue their worth. The Resistance, the Pathfinders, the entire crew, even at least most of the Directors--they all believe in her.

But, that will never be enough, that will all be negated, if Faunia does not believe in herself.

"Faunia, when you killed your mother, all those times you've defied your father, despite of the consequences..." Jaal starts. "Tell me how you felt."

She pauses, thinking in her hesitance, but not begrudging answering. "...Like I didn't care. Like I was fed up."

"And what did you tell me, when the Nexus shunned you for the rest of their actions? When they had decided already to give up? To die?"

"That I didn't want to go down like that."

"And what do you feel now?" he asks. "Knowing the Archon has your brother, has my galaxy in the palm of his hands. That he looks at you, and expects you to kneel?"

Her eyes find his again, and there, it hardens away from her uncertainty.

"That he'll have to bury me himself if he _ever_ wants me beneath him."

"That, right there," With one joined hand, he rises it to push her palm to her very chest, right at the strong and hefty drum of her heart. Where her soul pounds against her ribcage in demand for justice, where the steadfast march of her fight and drive live on, where all her anger and sadness and love and happiness cry to _survive survive survive._ " _That_ is your strength. You don't believe you have it in you, but all throughout your life, it has been your only supporter. _Believe in it_ , not just because I do, but because it has always been there."

Jaal realized some time ago that Faunia Ryder did not die only three times.

She's spent entire lifetimes dying, being killed _over and over and over_ again, tormented by her mother, tormented by her father, outcasted by society, falling to absolute pieces--and then picking herself up, reincarnating herself each time, with only more spite and vengeance to fight back with. Faunia is bursting at the seams with so much life, ferocity, and bravery, having died a million times and coming back each only _angrier._

There were times where he's doubted, where she's had him worried--but Faunia Ryder will never truly fall, not without causing all the trouble she can, not without kicking and screaming until she is in the ground, not without raising absolute hellfire and bringing the Archon with her.

"...It's a lot to live up to, but..." she says, the dawn of realization and resolve rising in her irises, like the fiery sun. "Yeah, I'm gonna do this."

Jaal's smile finds him again, squeezing the hand he's pressed against her chest.

"Yes, you are."

* * *

 

The racing ships, the explosive gunfire, the destructive deaths of entire fleets on both sides, the Archon's booming voice over the intercom--he'll go deaf at this rate, he's sure. Yet, the noise is not nearly as painful as pressing his nose against the window, watching as war wages and their allies scream for help, while he is _unable to do anything._

But, even through the thoughts of how many people just died with each battleship that falls into fiery pieces, he knows Faunia has got this handled.

" _You wish to force my hand? So be it._ "

 _Got this handled_ , he reminds himself, as Frederic's screaming bounces off the halls of the ships like a wailing phantom.

Said biotic makes a command just out of the direction of the mic and through the edges of his window, he hears something scrape at the bolts there, and catches the electric firecrackers of the Scourge twist and jump until it fills his view completely. Kallo and Suvi, flirt with the edges of such explosive dangers, and the rifleman cannot help but stumble from it's close proximity, afraid before he chastises himself for such weakness. _No. No._ He's gone in and out of the Scourge a million times, visiting and leaving Aya, and as such the Pathfinder has too. _Got. This. Handled._

They apparently do not truly have to dance their way through it's danger, however, not only the Remnant ships moving at the point of Faunia's finger--but the Scourge as well, drifting away at the Tempest's mere presence, pardoning itself for getting in the way, and through it does it present the colossal sphere that is Meridian. They race onward, straight to the barren Remnant panels of the planet, and Jaal's heart sinks. Surely, they did not just go full-frontal on the Archon for this? A metal orb, with no means of planting, or food growth, or life? This cannot be Faunia and Jaal's home--

But, through the window, he see's the very ground of the planet fall open. Collapsing, with blinding light shining through, cracking like a shell and presenting heaven.

Meridian is far from being unworthy to call home.

What fills his sights as they zip through the planet's open doors is abundant, healthy, _green_ , grown even across the valley of hills that look of gentle clay,and making refuge there. Grey-blue skies that ripple with light as if it were water, mist forming rather than clouds, electric _yevara_ of plating swimming among it. Pristine Remnant towering tall among the growth, a beautiful blend of tech and life, everything the Jardaan ever represented--and Jaal understands. Jaal understands why they made him the way they did, why they created his species and let them go to grow on their own, why he's so much _person_ when he could have been machine.

" _Suvi,_ " he hears Faunia over the intercom, forgetting where she is. " _What am I looking at?_ "

Within each of their minds, looking down upon these planes, only one answer fills their hearts. " _A wonder?_ "

The Jardaan is where they began, but Meridian is their _home._ The circle of life, the technology and biology becoming one, it is _here_.

With his breathe, the Tempest stills as well, and it's only then that Jaal realizes the hum of the ship and the rumble of the engine has stuttered into silence. Just as his stomach drops, the ship follows suit yet again, and soon he finds his feet being lifted off the ground and his head ramming into the ceiling.

They've stopped mid-air, crashing, falling, plummeting, Jaal caught mid-air in his own room with nothing to hold onto within reach. His mind doesn't have the time to keep up with the fact that _he'll die from this_ , much less to pray for his survival, and before he knows it the ground is closing in on the ship in mere milliseconds--

The swoop of the ship hurls him across his own room, tools and items clattering along with him, but he's at least fortunate enough that his gun didn't _go off_ as Kallo begins to make his apologies over the comm. " _Sorry! Sorry! Gravity was switched on us._ "

But Faunia gives them no time to process the apology for long, soon giving the order to make their last minute preparations and ready themselves to their stations. " _Meet me at the docking bay. Gonna need you all on this._ "

And so Jaal checks the components of his rifle for another countless time, and joins the rest at the docking bay, each with their own personalized weapons--Drack, with the handle to his shotgun having a _firaan_  now peeking from it, and his mallet of sharp bone and metal--and flair of battle-readied style--Peebee, with none at all, midriff still exposed as if there's no war at all. Yet, each holds the same weight; encouraging words, grounding presses to shoulders, frightened yet hardy glances, a quaking _need_ to protect each other.

All with someone, something, _everything_ to lose.

" _Wait!_ " All their feet collectively stop at the sound of Suvi, not through the intercom, but down the hall with the accompany of pattering feet. "Vetra, wait--"

Jaal's eyes find her among the crew, finding the turian--no matter how she tries to hide it--perk with new wonder and excitement as she strides easily to Suvi's call, having no complaint when the co-pilot takes her plated face into her hands. There's a hesitant jitter to her grasp, something he recognizes as new, nothing done before, testing the boundaries between them, but still it is allowed.

Suvi stands on her toes, pulling the taller woman down towards her, and Jaal's heart both warms and aches as their lips quietly meet.

Faunia, Jaal, Vetra, and Suvi are not the only ones sending their lovers out into battle, are not the only ones with someone to love and lose, are not the only ones having this _exact same moment_ now. There's a lot riding on this.

"For luck." Suvi whispers as they part, leaving Vetra stunned with her flustering, but nodding in acceptance. They unfortunately do not have anymore time to steal, though, as Vetra turns back to the sea of armor and guns.

"Can I get one too?" Drack teases, too hardened with violence and battle to care awfully much about the stakes, too old to get emotional over the possibility of death that looms over them, and Vetra offers a hard punch to his shoulder for daring to interrupt. "Better than nothing."

"Alright, Tempest," Faunia draws their attention, finalizing their mischief and drawing their sense of action, readying for the coming battle. "It's now or never."

* * *

 

It's both a blessing and a curse that this has become much more _involved_ than planned.

A blessing, because it strengthens them, not only in numbers but in spirit. It is proof that all of Faunia's work was not simply to make the _appearance_ of being upstanding, that the fruits of all their labor were not for naught, that their influence has hardened the hearts of millions to believe in something. Through all the differences and strain they are divided by, they come together, the fight for one another, they join their hearts into one, to face off a common foe.

Yet, it is still a curse, because he can see the worry it brings to Faunia. It may heighten their raging courage, but with it so does the risks they're taking, and it will equal a great cost. The Pathfinder, such a lonely and compassionate and brave woman, is used to taking on the burden herself so no one else has to. She is one to take on so much pain, murder on her hands and glass shards in her heart, weariness in her eyes and a creak to her bones, just so the rest of the clan can live a little more comfortably.

Yet, the Nexus. " _We'll guard the Hyperion._ "

The space pirates that had escaped them. " _The invitation was open, unless you're refusing Kadara's help._ "

The very best of the Resistance. " _We hold the kett, you secure Meridian._ "

Here they are, throwing themselves at a threat even she _died_ to, finally putting in the work they so chastised her for doing.

As Liam kicks and yells at their broken down Nomad, Jaal reaches to hold her fist--so small, so delicate, and so very strong--in his palm, to silently remind her that she does not have to bear the weight alone. They are not here to simply sacrifice themselves, and her fight to save everyone does not end with them being added to the piling list of people the Archon has snuffed out, but they are here to fight the same as she. Not for her, but _with_ her, for everything.

She looks away from the great landscape that is Meridian, and the destruction reigning in it's sky, to give him a withering smile. Now, even through the muck and dirt battle has plastered onto her, does Jaal see the muscles under her eyes having _darkened_ still, making her lovely features look almost gaunt and hollow in comparison to her more full and soft flesh. After today, they'll get to sleep in as much as she likes, he promises himself. Even if it's for entire weeks, he'll lie in bed beside her, hushing the nightmares away until she is fully rested--and she'll do the same for him.

He smiles back. He cannot wait.

"Shit is definitely busted," Liam calls from behind, wiping the grease on his gloves to his pants instead. Liam is no mechanic, but he knows well enough he does _not_ want his trigger finger to be slippery with oil. "Can't waste too much time trying to fix it."

"Damn it," Faunia grits still, but is too tired to truly put any effort in it, and he releases her hand to allow her to draw her pistol. "We'll have to go on foot from here, then. Step on it."

The grass of Meridian tickles at his ankles as they march double time, the wind cutting through him as they scrape through kett battles as fast and thorough as they can manage, whizzing pass bombs and chaotic gunfire that rip apart the terrain as if it were made of _water_. It's the most beautiful battlefield he's ever been on--he mourns that these are his first steps on it--but it is a battlefield nonetheless, and the cries for help over the comm. serve as a constant reminder.

" _Pathfinder? He's taken them._ "

Faunia balks in reply at the unfamiliar voice. "Captain Dunn?"

" _The core is lit up like Christmas, but SAM isn't talking. I think the Archon..._ " she warns. " _Shit, I don't_ know _what he did, but he has Frederic._ "

"I know." the biotic replies gravely, and quickly does she push her legs to run faster, heels flying through the soil as they close in on the entrance.

" _Whatever Meridian can do... he'll try to take it._ "

"I _know,_ " she says through her teeth, blood pumping, murder in her step. "Just focus on flying, I'll find..."

The sea of approaching _ticking_ from above makes her trail off, and the collective three of them rise their gazes to watch as bombs ready to implode fall to them--

The sound crashes through his ears and into his mind, disorientating him as he tries to leap _anywhere_ but his current position, world seemingly spinning and falling apart all at once as his body is thrown so painfully it's like he's shattered straight through layers and layers of _solid ground._ Then, it's like he's rocketed out of the atmosphere as he feels himself simply drift, ringing in his ears, limbs buzzing with static, blood running cold until it freezes his very movements.

The first thing that settles in is the pain.

His lungs wheeze, senses bleeding back into him as the muffled sound of harsh kett language reaches him, solid ground pressed comfortingly against his entire front, along with the taste of _dirt_ on his tongue. Jaal tries to force himself to at least turn over, only for the agony in his shoulder to flair across each and every nerve like numbing fire. The force of the blast and angle of his fall must have, at the very least, sprained the entirety of his spine. His shoulder, itself, most _definitely_ crying complaints that it was dislocated.

He pries his eyes open to find Faunia across from him, her helmet shattered apart and an ugly gash ripped across her forehead with heavy drooling blood, but her chest piece rising and falling with even breathes. _She's alive_ , thankfully, the stars blessing the two of them...

But not for long, as the legs of a Chosen come into his blurry view and the butt of his long rifle points at her temple, shocking panic straight into his very joints and rattling his bones. _His gun_ , no doubt thrown from his hands on the fall. _His firaan_ , placed inside his handle. Adrenalin courses through him, Jaal biting back any possible pain as he strains to jump to his feet--

But Liam beats him to it as shots fire off in the distance, before he _tackles_ the same kett to the ground with yowling rage, apparently fairing better than the two of them. His heart beat slows, but Jaal quickly puts his efforts into dragging himself towards his fallen lover to wake her. He takes her helmet into his palms and rips it off, throwing the useless, crushed metal elsewhere only to cradle her head in turn. Her hair sticky with wet blood, cranium limp in his hands, but still he tries gently to rock her senses awake. "Faunia... Faunia, _Faunia_. My love, please wake up. We have to _move._ "

Her eyes ease open only to squint at the light, still hazed, lips parted, akin to a gulping fish. Her voice is resorted to but the very air in her lungs, using what little wasn't knocked from her to speak. "...What--What happened?"

"The Archon deployed kett to defend him. They bombed us," he tells her. "He must be _inside_ already if he's deploying ground troops. We have to hurry."

She only stares at him for a moment, as if she must translate his words before they reach her, her mind still mulling so slowly that Jaal worries her delicate skull was cracked open on the fall. But her lips quirk in a weak, crooked smile, and she barks with a _laugh_ that is weak, but so, so deadly.

"He's scared," she coughs, teeth gritting in a pained cringe as she moves to lift her own weight. " _Good._ "

* * *

Some Resistance fighters and krogan soldiers are within the first thin layers of the vault, and assist in mowing down the Archon's defenses there, but the further they climb into the monsters throat the less their team is able to follow.

" _Too lean for this, Pathfinder. We risk being more distraction than help._ "

" _We're not in a position to take on dropships, Pathfinder!_ "

Faunia is helpless to do anything other than give her understanding and wishes for safe keeping, in that moment, but with no large masses to lose there's the thirst for vengeance he sees flash before her eyes as they travel deeper--and _that_ , that he knows she can commit, like no other. _That_ , he knows she believes in herself. The Pathfinder has been doing it since she was but a child, after all.

The further climb down into the heart of Meridian is a dreading one, somehow fitting itself to dangers of the coming battle. Lights gone red with anger as hot as Faunia's, electricity dancing across the edges of it's bridges and panels like her biotics, Remnant droning in still lines to point their goddess in the direction of their enemy--something her and Liam guess to be Frederic's doing, but Jaal almost feels as if he knows better, despite the mysteries yet to be uncovered. They have _always_ served and worshiped her, regardless if she even asks, with or without SAM. If there's a ghost in the machine, _she's_ it.

"It arrives!" The Archon announces with a holy echo, standing tall upon his pedestal of thick vines of wire, beside him being Frederic strapped to a chair and writhing in agony. It makes Faunia freeze at the sight, shoulders squared, a quiver in her spine, _visibly_ chilling her. He's-- _doing_ something to him. "This _attempt_ to rival me is no longer amusing, Pathfinder--"

A burst of blue winds past his head, however, the Archon and his foot soldiers clambering to dodge it's fury. It _burns_ with rage where it lands, spinning wildly on it's axis like a rabid animal, foaming at the mouth and _destroying everything it touches_ before going out completely in a huff of wisp. It leaves only a charred crater, telling tales of what the Archon could have been as Jaal watches his eyes get wider than he ever thought he'd see, shocked into indigence, silenced into fear.

Faunia's hair frees itself from her contained bun, gravity bending around her, drifting like an angry phantom, bathed in her own blood and engulfed in the cyan flame that is her biotics. 

She's had enough of hearing him speak.

The Archon corrects his expression into an enraged sneer, and soon the jungle of wires behind him bursts to light in a show of equal glow and power, rising him to his feet and into the air as Jaal realizes with disgust that _they're connected to him_. The air around them sways and flickers with offended electric light, Remnant shuddering and grinding with protest at the new mind intruding them, screeching unpleasantness and begging their true master for freedom from this wicked false prophet.

Frederic arches from his chair just then, whimpers forming into a full scream that makes his very blood curdle, trying to escape the confines of chair and vault and even his own _flesh_ as he twists and turns. Faunia rockets herself into the air with the burst of biotics at her feet, racing to protect her twin--only to be shot back with a burst of new, violent energy, knocked to the floor as if she were but an _insect_ to be _swatted._

"He's--" Frederic speaks through the pain as Jaal kneels to aid her, watching the fierce, carnal, fury flash through her eyes as he helps her to her feet. " _Shit, he has access!_ "

"I can see the network. They were architects of life..." the Archon whispers upon his pedestal, Jaal's eyes snapping to him. His eyes burst with the cyan coding that is SAM, unfocused, flickering, looking at something only his mind can see, finally understanding what they've come to discover. And yet... "You commanded _nothing._ "

Understanding nothing at all. That, not only was it not _about_ being in control, not _about_ dictating over the life the Jardaan created as much as letting it grow on it's own, not _about_ being on top of the food chain, but that--despite all that--Faunia has more command than any of them will ever know.

"You have lead your people to their deaths." he threatens one last time, before curling in on himself, and with it the room bursts with the same energy again. The walls and panels vibrate and chatter aggressively, having awakened something that makes every inch around him quake--the floor beneath his feet, the air as he breathes it in, the very _bones_ inside him as they rattle.  
From the open crater between their bridges, giant, metal claws appear, gripping their only means of floor and hurling the body that belongs to it forward, and casting it's shadow over the three of them. His heart sinks as it rises, on, and on, _and on,_ looming above them with it's designed tendrils and spinning maw, red-lightning teeth and crushing grip, until it looks down at them in _hunger._

"I'll crush you with your own _toys!_ " he vaguely hears the Archon laugh through his own numbing fear. "The Remnant obey _me_ now! _Me!_ " 

It's front claws buck and rise, and it all seemingly happens in slow motion as it begins to drop down again, the silence, the calm before a shot rings out, the thought of _intent_ before the action--before the sound of the bridge snapping in half like a _leaf_ as the Remnant monsters weight slams back into the pillars of the floors foundation, sending them stumbling on the sudden slope and rolling to the floor before it.

Before he can even get his bearings, reaching for his rifle with his stinging injury, he can see out of the corner of his eye as the metal serpent unhinges it's jaw and bears down on them with a brightening _death ray_ \--Faunia launching herself into it's direction as if she can stop it with mere _might_ alone-- _Death flashing across his eyes--_

Until it halts right above the Pathfinder, light dying within it's very mouth, stopped by her outstretched palm.

"What...?" The Archon's stun accompanies his own, echoing across the walls. "Insipid machine-- _Do as I command!_ "

Faunia moves her own hand, testing.

And, with it, the Remnant serpent follows the movement.

She looks at the pair of them over her shoulder, wide-eyed with disbelief, just as shocked and frightened as they. A dangerous invention that could wipe out the building with a mere swipe of it's tendril, and it is a _pet_ to Faunia, under her order.

So long has he compared her to a being beyond their plain of existence, adoring poetics of a normal girl being ethereal in his eyes, a mystical comparison to the impossible fate of _chance_ that she came to being in this galaxy. He's seen her blush, cry, bleed, die, after all. He's seen her in every mortal light possible. It was only _romantics._

But, seeing this, Jaal wonders if she's human at all. A beautiful blend of tech and life, like Meridian.

Faunia turns her attentions back to the new weapon before her, outstretching her other palm, and as she does the pillars of the vault accompany her reach. The serpent writhes, wriggles, shudders in understanding, swiveling effortlessly to the very man who summoned it. The walls creak and groan once again, grinding a chaotic symphony in her name, and soon the Remnant beast unhinges it's jaw again to join along in a reverberating _roar._

He vaguely hears Faunia strain under her own power, knees shaking in weakness, but nonetheless the very energy whipping across the air seems to pour itself into the Archon. The dictator gasps, growls, yelping and squirming like a half-crushed insect as he scrambles to yank the wires from his person until nothing supports him at all, falling mid-air--and the metal _snatches_ the Archon into it's crushing grip and winds him across the room, soon _slamming_ him into the broken floor before them.

The claw rises and, with the same force, punches him into the ground again.

And again.

And again.

And again, with trickles of acid-green blood beginning to seep between it's sharp claws.

"Faunia..."

Again, Faunia faltering and stumbling where she stands, her hold slipping as if she's about to pass out.

" _Faunia--_ "

Again, the biotic falling to her knee's.

" _Faunia, that's enough!_ " he calls, finally finding his footing and rushing to her as her own power seems to evaporate into nothing, her arms falling limp to her sides as the serpent stills with a dying sounds. He checks her over, blood pouring from her nose in buckets, the white of her organic eye filling with hints of _red_ as if she had suffered head trauma, and as Jaal makes what little assessing he can, the powered down Remnant opens it's claws and seems to slither back into it's hole.

And it leaves behind the Archon's body, bloodied and crumpled up, and finally vanquished.

"...You killed him," Jaal whispers, as if he's just realizing, and then again--to make it more real. "You killed him."

They...

They've  _won._

" _WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!?_ " Liam all but _shrieks_ behind them, making him jolt, and Faunia's head pushes itself against his chest to no doubt calm the raging _pound_ that is happening in her mind. The crisis-agent runs off into hysterics, still stunned, head rushing to catch up. " _YOU JUST FUCKING--_ "

" _Liam,_ " Jaal chastises as Faunia presses her face further, murmuring tired curses. "Can you please go help Frederic? Faunia is in no shape to do so."

"...Yeah, okay." Liam agrees, suddenly embarrassed of his forgetfulness and striding easily past them to climb the bridge to the other suffering twin, and Jaal tries his best to soothe his lover with the pet of his fingers through her hair.

"M'fine," she argues, sleeve rising to wipe at the new downpour of blood, though the sheer amount of it painting her face does little to both clean her and convince him. "I can get him."

But he shushes her, holding her straight as he rises to a stand as well. "You have done far more than enough, _taoshay._ Save your strength for the trek back out."

Looking again to the Archon's mangled corpse, he is reminded again that they've won.

To think a being that ruined his peoples very lives, that killed them and claimed their corpses as his own, lies pathetically vanquished before his feet--wide eyes blank with lifelessness, mouth hung stupidly, sprawled out like the same crumpled toy he once made Faunia look like. It's almost unsatisfying, but then again, Jaal knows no amount of torture he could put the Archon through would _ever_ be enough. There will always be a million past regrets, screaming rebuttals, vengeful fantasies, and twice as many curses that Jaal will have for this abominable monster, but he could have played them all out, and it would still _never_ be enough.

What matters is it's over now, and those millions of things, they will _remain_ at only a million.

He looks over the hoop of the Archon's fallen head, and remembers the many human symbols for it, in their art, in their religions.

Jaal plants his foot firmly against the back of the beasts limp skull, bends to grasp the ring of it, and pulls.

Faunia's voice draws his attention. "What are you doing?"

"I've read about what halos mean in human culture," Jaal answers as the disk gives a threatening _creak_ under his fist, straining like the bones of a withered soul, but not quite budging. Solar disk. Buddhism. Angels. _Glory_. A holy sign, for beings that create and control. Perhaps the Archon thought himself as akin to such heroics, but... "He does not _deserve_ it."

He's met with only silence at that, and perhaps he looks violent with his muscles straining to rip the adornment from the Archon, resorting himself to be so angry he'd defile even this dictators corpse. Yet, the rifleman doesn't care, not with the thousands of armies he's perverted, not with the amount of families he's forced to slaughter their own, not with the torture and scars he's left both physically and mentally; really, taking a trophy from him is a _kindness_ , in comparison to his misdeeds.

The silence is not judging as much as it's thinking, however, the rifleman proven wrong as another hand--of metal, and glow, and power--joins his. His eyes rise to take in her face, battered and bloodied, but she gives him a nod of understanding. Together, with her prowess added to his, teeth gritting as he pulls with all their might to rip the crown from the false kings head, the adornment creaks and crunches again--

Until the thick band snaps from his person with a blood curdling _crack_ of bone, lying limp in both their palms, and Faunia releases it in offering.

On the dragging trek back, with Liam supporting Frederic's weight and the Archon's crown gripped in his fist, Jaal wonders what awaits next in their journey--or rather, if there's any journey _left_ in this adventure. There is what little remain of the scrambling kett threat, the Primus herself, and the mystery of their origins and what is happening in other galaxies beyond Heleus, but--Is this it?

Jaal's spent his entire life in war, as have his friends, as have his entire family. While he is not ungrateful that he will get to learn and reap the benefits of normalcy--or something akin to it, at the very least, because who knows how _normal_ things can be with the trauma looming over them--he cannot help but... _mourn_ that the excitement, the adventure, as it will be dead along with the terror. Exhaltation, the Jardaan, The Tempest, Faunia Ryder, they've all changed his life in too many ways to truly count. There has been sorrow, and anger, and crisis, and so very much _loss_ , but after this will Jaal's life no longer change? Will he no longer learn and grow? Will he miss that?

Is their story over?

Through hurdles that they carefully limp over, and long halls they only half-pad through, and limbs threatening to collapse in exhaustion, Jaal is relieved to think that their _job_ certainly is. He does not want any large parties in celebration for their victory as of right now, but the reward of some heavy, heavy sleep. Yes, a bed where the frizz of red hair whispers against him, with all the silence in the world except her sweet breathing as she rests, that sounds like the most glorious of heavens right now.

... Maybe after a few rounds of sweet sex with said object of affections, now that he thinks about it, but--mostly sleep.

The light at the end of the final tunnel thankfully greets the four of them, welcoming with it's glow, and Jaal surrenders as he trudges into the warmth of the sun and lets it blind his sight.  
The world fades back to him, and before them, little pieces of all of Heleus stand with wondrous stares. So silent that Jaal can hear the blades of grass dance against each other, too afraid to get their hopes up, too frightened of celebrating too early, _too good to be true_ repeating like a mantra in their minds and crying through their awed eyes.

He holds the ring of the Archon's skull up high, and even still there is no cheer. No party, or laughter, or smiling yell of celebration. Not exactly, not to Jaal's ears, at the very least.

To him, it is more like the collective, deafening, _sob_ of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OVERPOWERED! OC'S! OVERPOWERED! OC'S! OVERPOWERED! OC'S! this is the part where i get called out for faunia's inspiration being "satan, but like, if they were a millennial"
> 
> i'm really sorry it took me an extra week to do this chapter, i know ya'll gotta be sick of me doing that! i honestly worked so hard on this one i'm kind of sick of even looking at it, but i hope the hard work made for a good chapter!
> 
> this could honestly make for the end right here, but we just have ONE more to go, filled with smut and cuteness and the usual things that should be in ship fics. thank you all for your patience!


	21. *One love, One house

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so Jaal and his new love in his life get a much needed rest, their journey at a stand-still.
> 
> But not at the end.

For the first time in his life, he gets to _sleep in._

He and Faunia have been avoiding the galaxy-wide party somewhat for a little time to themselves, celebrating in small bouts on the Tempest, in her apartment on the Nexus, and now with his family on Havarl. There's certainly been a few to ask where they've been--the Nexus leaders wanting to reward medals, each Pathfinder with new bottles to share, Keri and her many intrusive questions about Jaal's kiss with Faunia once they left the vault--but it matters not, as the celebration of their victory will no doubt still be going on once they're ready for it.

Right now, Jaal is enjoying waking up to his gorgeous lover as the soft sunlight highlights the frizz of her hair, wrapped in one of his shirts, with the collar so over-sized it's practically useless. He hums sleepily to himself, but still does he scoot closer to wrap his arms around her, and pepper quick kisses. To her curls, her cheeks, her nose, the corners of her lovely lips, until he feels her wake with a smile and stretch in his arms. "Mm, I have morning breath..."

"So do I." he refutes teasingly, hands crawling up his own shirt to flatten across the soft flesh of her belly, and thumb the button there--not quite with any intent but just to _feel_ her. Alive, pristine, clean from the rot of blood and battle, as if no war waged at all. She only has to turn her head just so to meet his lips, but still she turns more fully, holding him back, feathering sweet fingertip touches over his cheek, opening her tired eyes to all but _beam_ at him with all the affection her broken heart can hold.

"Good morning, handsome."

And, as he watches her close her eyes and lean in, as full, soft, smiling lips press against his so gently, as he's treated like fine porcelain, Jaal dreams about waking next to her like this every day. To think that a woman so aggressive, so powerful, so brutal, the Queen of Remnant and giver of life, could treat him with such tenderness--Jaal is so very lucky, and so very overjoyed, to be the most precious offering ever made to this benevolent being in his bed.

"A good morning it is indeed." he rumbles, before diving in deeper, fingers in her messy hair, swallowing the laughter that bubbles in her throat. Her arms wrap more fully around him, hugging him so close he's no doubt smothering her, and there her giggling lowers into a pleased hum.

"I'm liking it so far," she murmurs between kisses, never truly drawing away. "Hey... How much longer until the rest of your family wakes up?"

The rifleman--though, he supposes he's not much of one these days--eyes the clock mounted on his wall, murmuring quizzically as she nuzzles her nose against his, shifting under the covers. "Hm... An hour or two, perhaps? Why?"

But what catches his eye is the familiar sight of her underwear, appearing from the covers to dangle dangerously at the edge her finger, before dropping limply and being abandoned to the floor.

Oh.

She throws her leg over his hip, drawing him closer even when there is no more room to take up, and Jaal can only surrender as his lover rolls him onto his back with only the pressure of her own hips and the seductive shadow in her eyes as a weapon. "Wanna continue the celebration?"

" _Here?_ " he asks dumbly, eyes flickering to the now incredibly naked delicate skin sitting atop him, his shirt dripping from her frail shoulders to expose soft vanilla skin and hair haloing her body with reminders of what a _mess_ he could make her. Certainly, they've fooled a bit in much more public places than a bedroom; Nexus hallways, showers, the very first time she trusted him with her body was on a public beach that he had to _ask_ privacy for. But... "Ruin my childhood memories, why don't you?"

Her fingers are already traveling the hills and valleys of his chest, however, distracting themselves with each groove and line of muscle they can find that makes him shudder. She scoots a little farther back, onto his thighs, and with it her touch follows as it smooths down down down the expanse of his stomach.

She thumbs the high waistband of his sleepwear, teasing, sensual, entirely interested in his form. "I only wanna ruin you."

...Jaal feels himself swallow thickly, cowl blushing.

"...Well..."

The corners of her lips quirk crookedly, fingers snapping his own waistband. "Am I hearing a yes?"

...It's not as if his family hasn't slept with their respective mates in their own bedrooms. They wouldn't have made a family, and continued to enlarge it, otherwise.

"Temptress. Beautiful mistress," he accuses as his hands reach for her face, cupping gently and pulling her forward, until his lips meet hers, and Faunia takes the initiative to begin peeling off his pants as she offers her tongue. "You'll have to be very quiet."

"Yes, sir."

She straddles him again as his palm makes home at her thigh, course curls pressed against his still-closed sheath, rocking against nothing there in poor attempt to find pressure but still moaning against his tongue. Just feeling her weight on him, spread welcomingly wide, the hint of slick on his sheath and their bodies shifting against his bed, Jaal can already feel the stir of arousal waking. The rounded tip of her tongue dances between the slit of his before she pulls away, with a soft but sharp intake of breathe, whispering against him. "I need you to do me a favor..."

She doesn't have to ask, Jaal's hand smoothing up her thigh until it presses against her ass, his fingers teasing at her sex and making her arch into the touch. She's wet already, coating his fingertips as they press more insistently against her folds, finding a rhythm and circling her opening until Faunia forgets how to kiss at all. The stimulus alone renders her lips to that delectable 'o' shape, jaw hung wide and body sagging against him until her head falls into his cowl, kissing and nipping his jaw in between bated breathes. He rumbles in reply, sheath squeezing at his hardening cock as it inches it's way towards her, enjoying the _sweet smell_ and _insistent pressure_ and _velvety skin_ that is his Darling One.

"You're not very good at doing me favo _Oorss..._ " Her defiance trills off into a warbled moan, surprised and pleased all at once as he slowly sinks his index into her tight folds, slowing his rhythm into little, pumping inches to allow her to adjust. "Ohh, _fuck me._ "

" _Shhh_ , in time," he promises airily, free hand soothing up her spine to draw goosebumps into her skin, making her shudder and arch as his other hand easily works his way to the knuckle. It's harder to press against the sensitive spot inside her at this angle, and even more difficult to play with the glistening pearl outside of her, but he tries to make up for it with speed and sensuality. "First, love, let me warm you for my cock..."

" _Yes_. God." The walls of her tender center pulse and squeeze at him at that, and Jaal shivers and tenses just as his length does, inching from his opening and bumping against course curls--but Faunia has no protest, in fact pausing her rhythm to lift her hips and allow him room, letting his hardness lie heavy between them until she settles carefully against it. She shuffles and wriggles, spreading her sex against his cock to press the heat of her clit to it, before she begins her grind again. They both inhale sharply at the pressure, the buzz of his bioelectricity, their combined wetness as his precious lover eagerly glides across him, setting his nerves alight and mouth watering. Apparently, Jaal does not need to reach her most sensitive treasures with his fingers.

He purrs beneath her, and she replies with her own primal noise in the form of a surprised moan as he carelessly bunches the shirt she wears, tangles his free fist in her hair, and bites at the shell of her ear. His index pumps _in and out, in and out, in and out_ nosily, faster--

Then, she clings to him, trembling in his arms, whimpering against his chest and bucking against his length and finger, and Jaal feels himself go cross-eyed too as the petals of her sex flutter around his digit in building excitement. She's close, pleasuring herself against the ridges of his cock and the flick of his wrist, whining low against his chest--until it catches in her throat, bearing down as her sweet sex strangles his digit, clit pulsing even against his length, making him _throb_ with heat while he hugs her just as tight and rides her through her orgasm.

Faunia shakes, tense and curled tight against him, breathe shuddering as if she's shivering, and Jaal soothes her through it with a few kisses to her sweating brow. With each inch of skin his lips meet, the biotic eases, eventually lying limp and lounging as he slowly pulls his fingers from her.

The biotic drags her own skull against his chest to angle it better, looking up at him with worn, drunken eyes and gorgeous flushed cheeks. Absolutely wrecked inside her own afterglow, just as Jaal likes it. "God, you're beautiful."

"You are too," he smiles back, the ache in his groin so very worth it. "Was I satisfactory?"

"Always," she whispers, turning her head again to plant kisses against the grooves of his chest. "But I'm not quite that selfish."

...Selfish? Jaal hums a quizzical noise, but so soon is Faunia exploring the expanse of his body with her lips instead of her fingertips this time, making a garden of her adoration across his stomach--towards _his cock_ \--with the kisses she plants.

The rifleman stammers, arousal--the sight of her lowering down his torso, the feel of her lips caressing him, _Faunia Faunia Faunia his sweet vixen_ \--muddying his thoughts, trapping his words in his throat, shooing away rationality. "I, _mm_ \--Again?"

"I know the perfect way to keep quiet," she murmurs, sparing a glance up at him as she finally settles between his legs, touch fondling his hips and thighs in slow smoothing motions, soft lips parted and just _barely_ mouthing at his throbbing cock. "If you'll let me."

A mere, slow, long swipe of her tongue, from the sensitive vents of his base to the capped tip, hits him like blissful lightning.

As if he could ever say no.

"Do whatever you want to me..."

Faunia grins at that, one of her hands idling up to his sheath, playing with the walls there before wrapping around his base and raising him properly to her mouth.

She kisses wetly at the tip, tongue swiping over it's slit and circling it as if she's savoring his taste, before she _sucks_ him into her mouth--a simple movement that leaves him choked and straining not to arch. Her lips are so soft, tongue so thick yet so flexible, cupping around his head and lapping against him in smooth and skilled motions.

"Your mouth is perfect..." he sighs as she drinks him in, unbothered by the slick he's producing, though her hair seems to keep falling in her face and his lover is ever-adjusting it. Jaal reaches shaky hands towards her, smoothing the rusty locks from her face and holding them in one fist, so--though the intention was to be helpful--he can watch as she makes sensitive nerves sing without a single command at all. Feeling the slight pressure of pull with her lips alone, fingers thumbing the vents at his base, his body is her's. _Oh_ , his body is _her's. All all all her's._ " _Skutt_ , so perfect..."

Forgetting all language as Faunia sucks farther down his shaft, he feels himself hit the back of her throat, before Faunia _swallows_ around him and Jaal must keep from bucking into the tightness. It's made so much harder when her mouth _flexes_ around him in a gag, because _oh she's so delicate_ , and _stars she's taking him so deep_ , and _skutt he could fill her tiny frame so well. His lover, his dearest heart, his Darling One_ , but it's all those things that makes him beg of her. "D-Don't hurt yourself..."

Then she peers up at him, not deterred at all, with those dark eyes pinning him to the bed, and where he's at or who could walk in doesn't even _exist_ in his mind anymore. Pleasure shoots straight up his spine at the sight, like an electrical current, like a live wire, Jaal shaking because _stars above he could just die_. The most beautiful woman, the softness of her lips around him, watching as she sucks him off and crumbles him into absolute pieces--

Faunia makes sure to drive the point home, taking him all the way into the tight heat of her throat, tongue pressing against the vents of his cock, humming around him before her eyes fall shut like he's the most delectable thing in existence. Oh, so readily does her head begin to bob, sucking him hard on the rise and throat flexing around him on the fall, his fingers clenching into the mess of her hair just as his toes curl. He grits out a groan, shudders, biting down his moan as he's rendered to a useless, puddle of a man. _Lost_ , so utterly lost in the press of her breasts against his inner thighs, in the palm against his sheath as the other fondles his thigh, in the fluid motion of her tongue as it explores the sensitive vents at the base of his cock, _her mouth her mouth her mouth_ sending pressured, heated, beautiful pulses through him like waves. Her mouth riding against him--She's so--He didn't expect-- "D-Darling one, _you're too good_ , I'm--Ah, _yes_ , I'm..."

Another hum and words are lost on him, all the years of literature and poetics he's ever read gone within an instant, shoved away in favor of getting lost in the _wonderful wonderful wonderful_ stimulus blooming across him. If he wasn't drooling before, he certainly is now, his quaking thighs falling open wider and his back arching. His breathe comes up short, pulse sounding quick in his own ears, thoughts swimming in the current, pleasure rocketing through him before he knows it as Faunia gulps down whatever he has to offer--

He's tip-toeing right at the edge, just _one_ more suck, _one_ more swipe of her tongue, Jaal involuntarily tugging her closer by her hair--

Faunia all but _moans_ at that and the pressure pops on him in a rush, swimming, deaf to the gutted noise that comes out of his own throat as he spills himself down _hers_. He curls in on himself, all but rising from the bed as his other hand cradles her head and he _rocks and rocks and rocks_ , gentle hands giving encouraging petting's as he ruts into her throat--And Jaal cries desperately as he comes again, so soon after the last, waves of ecstasy _crashing_ hard against him and leaving him violently trembling.

Then, he's spent, air finding his lungs again rather than following his moans. He lies limp against his bed again, flinching and nearly kicking at nothing when Faunia sucks on the way off, oversensitive and huffing heavily. He opens his eyes to find Faunia panting as well, the luminescent purple of his spent painted messily around her lips, and Jaal _hurts_ with the twitch of interest that sends to his cock. Fortunately, he has the right mind to be a little embarrassed by the sheer amount of it; angara are... messy lovers, able to come multiple times at once and produce so much lubricant to increase the chance of pregnancy, he thinks. Jaal's unsure, not well with biology, and too tired to think when Faunia's climbing back into his lap and rolling up the shirt she wears.

 _Seeing_ rather than just _feeling_ the wet apex of her thighs, the thin hair decorating her pelvis, the curve of her waist, the supple flesh of her breasts, Jaal watches as she uses the hem of his shirt to clean her mouth--ruining his clothes again, he thinks with a weak smile--and reaches to caress at the new exposure of milky skin as if it were a precious gift granted to him.

As he thumbs the underside of her breasts and palms the expanse of her ribs, she grins down at him. "Think you can go for another round?"

" _Another?_ " he scoffs even as he smiles, even as his hands rest at her hips, suddenly remembering the door. If he hadn't known better, he'd think he hadn't been satisfying her as of late. "Whats spurned this?"

"You're always so good to me," she whispers gently, free hand laying over his own to soothe across his wrist. "I want to give as good as I get."

His heart warms at such a precious thought, stroking her skin with only reverence in his touch, but still he eyes the clock. It must have been, what, an hour?

...But Faunia is here, naked in his lap, filling his hands, waiting for his permission with drunken lust still swimming in her eyes. He stays still only a moment more, listening for the telltale shuffle of many feet, of laughter and good-natured bickering, of teasing siblings young and old, but is only met with the sound of still walls and wildlife only just now waking.

His cock aches with it's continued hardness, insisting, and she convinces him without having to say anything at all. "I did say you could do whatever you wanted to me."

She offers one more gentle, crooked smile, before raising the roll of his shirt to her mouth and clenching it between her teeth. A movement for both secrecy and seduction, muffling her voice just as much as it pleases his gaze. She rises from his lap once more and takes him into her hand, angling him to her sweet entrance, and Jaal _shakes_ just feeling himself press against her wet warmth. He easily breaches just the tip into her, sighing already at the _heat_ and _squeeze_ that welcomes him, feeling his bones melt the moment she slowly sinks, until Faunia must rest her hands to his chest so her thighs can meet his hips again.

She starts a slow, almost lazy rock of her hips there, and so early in the morning one would think Jaal would appreciate taking his time. But the naked arch of her body, her hips so full in his hands, the dark look in her eyes as she watches him so intently--it has him so pent up, already panting harsh, bioelectricity scrambling like broken feedback because all it wants is to attack her curves and send her goosebumps waking.

"W-We'll, _ah,_ " he starts with some difficulty, swallowing hard as she squeezes around his ridges. "We'll get c-caught at the rate we're going."

But her beautiful mouth curls around the cloth in a smirk, emitting a low moan in the back of her throat, like she _likes_ the thought of that. It sends a thick throb of pleasure straight to his cock, palms tightening against the flesh of her hips.

"You are a _vixen,_ " he hisses through a shudder, a little accusatory, sending a punishing jolt through his palms that makes his lover flinch and buck. " _A temptress. My seducer._ "

Then she takes his wrists in her much smaller fingers and pulls them away from her hips to pin them beside his head, looming over him like a predator just having captured prey, taking in her meal. His breath stills under her hungry stare, waiting to be eaten whole. The gaze holds different meaning than when he first met her, and is not always as cold anymore, but still--after all this time--Faunia Ryder can still freeze his very bones with her eyes alone.

And Jaal _loves_ it.

A slow rise of her hips, tugging wetly at his length until just the tip is inside her warmth, before crashing down again. She does it once, twice, until a steady rhythm that has his jaw dropping is set. _Oh, finally._ He feels her laboring breathes through her nose, hears her sweet hums and moans through the shirt in her teeth, sees her pleasure in her hazed and hooded eyes that watch him so closely. His eyes drift to where they're joined, and he groans at the sight of his length disappearing inside her, the both of them so wet the glide is almost embarrassingly easy.

" _Skutting_ stars." he swears, biting his own lip in futile attempt to keep quiet. She has to be the most sensual woman alive, spreading herself on him, driving him to near madness like this, having him so close so soon.

Her pace steadily grows faster, treating him a little rougher, drowning out all his sense to be nothing but _her her her_ as so very hot, wet, _tightness_ pumps across him. Pulling and sucking. _Taking him, taking him, taking him, sweet miraculous stars, it's been too long since he was last on his back._ Amidst the silent creaking of his bed, the slap of her soft skin against his, the heightening high of such pleasure, he vaguely feels the pressure in his groin start to build again. He groans throatily as he feels it in _Faunia_ too, rhythm stuttering and voice croaking, her sex swelling with building arousal around him, tighter and tighter.

"Yes, Faunia," he near whines, desperately and impatiently, riding the wave of their rocking bodies. " _Sk-Ff--Fuck_ yourself onto me. Take what you need. Please, _please--_ "

Then her hands fumble off his wrists to catch his face, dropping her shirt from her teeth and mashing their lips in a kiss that's sloppy and loud and desperate and _perfect,_ and the movement alone has him lost. His hips flinch up against her fluttering sex as release washes through him too, arms drawing around her and clinging her _closer closer closer,_ just needing to _touch_ everywhere and be completely surrounded by her essence.

His pace against her's is erratic, the sound of meeting skin and muffled cries loud, drawing out both their orgasms until he has nothing left to spill into her and his limbs protest with weariness.

Then, boneless. Completely devoid of energy. Faunia renders him a helpless, defensive heap of exhausted muscle. He spends too much time than he cares to count only panting, eyes still closed as he tries to fall back to reality.

But he feels her hands still cupping his face, gently tracing down his cheekbones, and following the line from his chin to his lips. He opens his eyes, and finds his beloved having long since sobered up, but still using her energy to simply stare down at him with so much _love_ in her eyes it punches the wind out of him all over again.

She smiles at his attention, gentle and reverent. "Hey."

"...Hello."

"I love you."

What has he done to deserve such affections, such wholehearted reverence? So long has he yearned for this, so long has he pined and failed, that he had nearly given up on finding love and was ready to settle for flings. Yet, here she is, having finally found him through mere coincidence and unfortunate torture, in front of him, praising him, making love to him, floating in afterglows filled with sweet confessions as if they were new. "I love you, too."

But in a flurry of red hair and blankets, it's only then that Jaal notices the turning gears of his door going off in warning, and he has barely enough time to cover himself before it opens to present them to one of his mothers.

"Are you two--Oh," Vaasaana starts and stops, the ridges of her brow rising high, and unabashed mortification slaps Jaal in the face before she speaks again, this time in a whisper. "Did I wake you?"

His gaze can't help but to snap to his girlfriend, whom had just recently _rubbed and sucked and fucked_ three orgasms out of him, now turned away from the door and completely still in feign sleep. The implications that she's such a gifted liar are unfortunate, having perfected pretending, but never will Jaal deny that it doesn't have it's perks.

The caught son chokes, remembering himself and answering as he tries not to look too hard like he's hiding himself, while entirely hiding himself; his arousal has immediately been frightened away back into his sheath, but the, er, _wetness_ there still coats him...

"Um, _no_. Just stealing a moment to ourselves," he forces out, finally snatching his voice into coming out of his throat, pretending he doesn't feel guilty as he fibs to his own mother. It's not quite a lie, per say, but she in no way needs to know the context of what he means. "We'll be out for breakfast in a moment."

Horror strikes straight between his eyes as Jaal realizes Faunia's underwear is _still on the floor,_ completely open to his mothers view. _Don't notice, don't notice, don't notice--_

"Alright, then. Stars know you both deserve it," Mother Vaasaana only smiles in sweet oblivion, however, proud and glad. "I'll save you both some seats, but don't sleep too long, now."

He nods his thanks, both at her offer and the miraculous circumstance, and his mother steps back to allow the doors to close in blissful solitude again. The rifleman then quickly strains to _snatch_ at the abandoned cloth on the floor, not wanting to test his blessings and give anyone _else_ a chance to catch them in their filthy lie, before he lies back to finally let free the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He feels his lover begin shaking beside him, completely silent in her amusement before her giggling begins to trickle from her lips, clearly finding this whole ordeal--their poorly timed coupling, his mother walking in before Faunia could have even properly risen from his cock, her underwear crumpled in his fist--humorous.

...But it is pretty funny, isn't it, he thinks with a blossoming grin of his own as he turns to wrap his arms around her once again. The sweat is still cooling, but his heart will be forever warm, as long as he can peppers kisses across her skin and hold her in his arms. "You think defiling my childhood home is _funny_ , do you?"

" _Yes,_ " Faunia wheezes, laughing harder now, brow scrunched and lips pulled wide in squeezing joy. "Now we have morning breath _and_ smell like sex."

"Sex and sleeping," Jaal huffs, playful, grin reaching his eyes. "I think it suits us rather well."

" _Fresh,_ " she teases, shooting him a squinted smile over her shoulder. "How are we going to show up to breakfast like this?"

He hums in thought, nudging her shoulder with his chin. "If everyone is off eating, the showers should be free."

And so they gather their clothing and slink to the empty hallways to sneak to the showers, hand in hand, trying not to reveal themselves with their distracted kisses and childish snickering.

* * *

There's many things for his family, and no doubt many others, to celebrate now that the kett threat has been so diluted. Engagements have been made and wedding plans are in motion, talks of sending angaran children to school with their Milky Way counterparts are drifting through the air, the other Resistance fighters among his family go over new jobs that will arise. Finally, for once, his people can finally plan a future beyond surviving today. Finally, with the Milky Way's help, the angara have the opportunity to fulfill their passions and dreams rather than shape their life into a single duty.

Finally, his people can freely _want_ things, rather than restrict themselves to _needs_.

Sahuna, ever shameless, asks his lover among the excitement. "What is next for you, my child? Should I be settling a room for you here?"

"Oh, uh-- _no_ , no, I'm actually..." He hears her fluster while he is in the kitchen, helping prepare the meals of those too young to make their own. "I'm going to be Pathfinding still, if that's alright."

Jaal perks at that, surprised, imagining their continued journey. He supposes there is still more to explore, but with the planet's at peak viability, with the Archon gone, is there more for a Pathfinder to truly find? Is there truly something left unfinished?

His mother echoes his thoughts as he comes back to the table, a bowl of paste in one hand and the grip of one of his nieces in another, sitting the both of them between his true mother and his lover once again with a wondering look in her direction. "Oh? Even with the Archon gone?"

"There's still some issues to resolve. Some questions to answer. The sleep is long overdue, but... I still want to get to the root of the problem before I retire," Faunia answers with that same strong determination that has always taken his breath away, has always shot stars in his eyes and a stammer to his heart, but it falters some as she catches his gaze. "If--you'll come along with me, of course."

Again, as if he could ever refuse her. He had asked her that, wherever she go, she take him with her. "I'd follow you to the darkest depths of the universe. Always."

Her cheeks tint pink at such open praises, but the even more open toothy smile that takes up her cheeks is unmistakable, and his breathe catches in his throat. It radiates such happiness, such lost youth, such _positivity_ and _love_ and _joy_ , and Jaal's heart _aches_ at the thought that it was once considered impossible for her. That, once, she had thought she had experienced all life had to offer. That, once, she had no question that that was all for her.

That, once, he thought the same.

That, now, in that smile lies their future.

"When are you going to marry her, hm?" He hears his mothers voice so very suddenly close, and Jaal draws his gaze away to find that it is indeed real, Sahuna having leaned in to whisper to him with a grin of her own. _Marriage. A garden in the backyard, a pet scampering across the tile, a perfect view of the sun settling low right out their front door._

Jaal had once worried that the end of the Archon's life would be the end of his. That no more adventure would be in store for him, that no wonders or questions would ever grace his presence again. That he, ever a fool, had figured it all out and there were no more paths to find.

But, no, this isn't the end at all.

"Someday," he replies, eyes magnetized back to the vision that is his Darling One, the Queen of Remnant, life giver, army brat, biotic, and Pathfinder--but, most of all, Faunia Ryder, who has found happiness along with him and is holding his nieces hand back without fear of her own touch. "Someday soon."

This is only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and this concludes our journey! i cannot express how grateful i am for the audience this fic has developed, and every day i appreciate your guys comments and kudo's, even if i don't reply to them all simply because i have no other words other than "thank you" <3 sometimes, i go back just to read through them all again. if it weren't for you guys, there's a chance i would have been disheartened by continuing.
> 
> thank you all for all your astounding support and patience. throughout the handful of months i've been writing this, there are definitely things earlier on that i would have written better, but my only real regret was time restraints. i'm really sorry for all the times i've posted really late in the night, or had to take an extra week to post a new chapter, and in the future i'll have to manage my time a little better. but not once did i receive comments for me to hurry up my work or have people give up on me, and for that i thank you <3
> 
> if you want to see any possible art for these two/are interested in my more original works/are interested in my art in general, i have my tumblr here:  
> http://dedelighted.tumblr.com/
> 
> thank you again to everyone who has read <3

**Author's Note:**

> My very first slow-burn fic! This ship has inspired me like no other, and I really hope this goes well and brings something new to the table. Will try to update weekly.
> 
> First, we have Jaal meeting a meelk-y waaay alien.
> 
> (disclaimer: lyrical titles will probably not be in order lol)  
> (disclaimer disclaimer: smut will be labeled with a * for those who want to avoid/for those who are here specifically for that)


End file.
